


All Will Be Well

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 61
Words: 40,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the drabbles and minifics I've written for prompts on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fitzsimmons + Are you drunk?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be gradually moving all my Tumblr minifics over here to have them all in one place, mostly for my own organizational benefit. So you may have seen some of these before! I used to be felicity-smoaking on Tumblr, and am currently unbreakablejemmasimmons, for reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first one is based on the prompt Fitzsimmons; “Are you drunk?” by widowshulk on Tumblr. Academy-era.

Fitz downed the last of a beer— his sixth or seventh, surely— and set the bottle on the Boiler Room’s bar. On the stool beside him, Simmons took another sip of her cocktail.

“Yeah, Lil’ Fitz!” A boisterous clap on his shoulder made him cringe, and one of his fellow cadets poked his head into Fitz’s line of vision. “The super-genius gets super-wasted!” The cadet— Brian?— laughed at his own joke and moved to lean against the bar and flirt inexpertly with the bartender. Fitz tried not to roll his eyes.

“Hey, Simmons,” he said, swiveling in his seat to face her more fully. “Are you drunk?”

She looked at him almost guiltily. “No?” He sighed with relief.

“Me neither.”

“Everyone else claims to go out drinking all the time—”

“—and they’re always telling those stories about how wasted they got—”

“—and yet it seems like they’re all just—”

“—amateurs,” he finished, and she nodded. She sipped the last of her drink through the tiny cocktail straw and set it down.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

—

Not ten minutes later, they were walking along the path back to the dorms. The August night was warm and they walked in comfortable silence, shoulders not quite brushing.

“Well, we tried going out. Least we can cross that off the list.”

Simmons chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll still go out occasionally. In fact, I have a date with Simon Rowell next Friday. We’ll likely end up at the Boiler Room again.”

Fitz nodded, eyes on the sidewalk. He didn’t know why his stomach clenched whenever Simmons went on dates, but he made a mental note to schedule extra lab time for Friday night.

“Simon and Simmons? That just sounds ridiculous.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “And Fitzsimmons doesn’t?” He let out a breath of a laugh. The nickname Professor Tanuku had sarcastically bestowed upon them in their first year didn’t seem to be going away.

“I suppose it does.” The companionable silence settled over them again as they approached the footbridge over the creek that wound through campus. Suddenly Simmons stopped short, reaching up to smack Fitz’s shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Fitz! Look!” He tilted his head up to see what she was looking at and saw a few meteors flash across the sky. “The Perseids! I completely forgot!”

Neck craned, he watched the sky and leaned his elbows on the railing of the bridge. Beside him, Simmons matched his actions. “Used to watch these with my mum when I was growing up,” he said. “She would always make up stories about them, like they were people in a big rush to get someplace, rather than comet debris burning up in the atmosphere.”

Simmons smiled at him fondly. “Your mum sounds sweet.”

He ducked his head. “She is.” They both looked back up at the sky, watching a few more streaks across the darkness.

“This is nice.” Simmons folded one arm over the other on the railing, and he turned to watch her face, lit softly by the night sky and the glow of a nearby lamppost. She was right. It was nice.

“It’s too bad your date with Simon wasn’t tonight,” he said, unsure why he was doing so even as the words left his mouth. “You could have watched this with him. Could’ve been romantic, and all that.” He grimaced, pressing his mouth together to stop him from saying more, and trained his eyes back on the sky. Why would he even bring up Simon? His stomach clenched again for no reason at the thought of the tall, broad-chested cadet.

But Simmons just laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “Why would I want to do that? You’re my best friend in the world.” She looked over at him out the corner of her eye. “This is perfect.”

Fitz could feel the knot in his stomach begin to untie as they stood there on the bridge, side by side, staring up at the stars. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”


	2. Fitzsimmons + Hunter + You came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one written for the prompt Fitzsimmons + Hunter; “You came back.” For MCUWatcher85 on Tumblr. Future AU.

“You came back. Mate, why did you come back?” **  
**

Fitz eyed Hunter suspiciously as he entered the hotel suite. “Are you packing up my things?”

“Well, obviously. Thought you’d done a runner.”

“I just went looking for the ice machine. We were out.” Fitz held up the plastic bucket, newly filled with ice, before setting it on the dresser. Hunter looked at him blankly, then sighed and began to unload the suitcase.

“I’m just saying, if there were ever a time to head for the hills– now’s it.” He lifted a pair of socks out of the case, the tag still on them. They were patterned with tiny dancing monkeys and bananas. Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Bold new style choice?”

Fitz ducked his head to hide the slight blush that tinged his cheeks. “A gift from Jemma. In case–”

“In case you got cold feet?” Hunter nodded. “Smart bird, that one.”

“Well, I obviously don’t need them. At least, not for the metaphorical kind of cold feet.” Fitz crossed the room to stand in front of the full length mirror in the corner, taking in his appearance and fiddling with the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Sure you don’t. Never said  _you_  were the smart one.” Hunter sat down on the bed, leaning back on his hands. “If you did start to get the itch, just  _hypothetically_ , I’ve taken the liberty of opening the window in the bathroom. It’s only 30-some-odd feet down. You could probably get away with only minimal broken bones.”

“‘m not jumping out the window.”

Shifting on the bed, Hunter pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “Thought you might say that. I also printed off the floor plan of the hotel. Now, it doesn’t include the air vents, but you’re some kind of a genius. You can figure it out.”

Fitz leaned closer to the mirror, doing his best to flatten out the unruly curls he’d taken to wearing a bit longer lately. Perhaps he should have gotten a haircut earlier in the week, he thought, but too late now. “Not climbing through the air vents, either.”

“Well, mate, I don’t know what I’m here for, then. I put together seven contingency plans in total, and you’ve rejected every last one of them.”

“Don’t need one.”

Hunter stood, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Get married. Just don’t come crying to me when it all goes south.” He crossed the room, then turned back before he reached the door. “I’m going to find Skye and send her over here. She’s better with the gushy stuff than I am.”

Fitz smiled at that. Of course Skye was better at the gushy stuff, given that she’d been the one to finally push them together. “Send her in, just as long as Jemma doesn’t need her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” On his way out the door, Fitz heard Hunter mutter, “Maybe I can talk some sense into Jemma.” Fitz shook his head and chuckled– Hunter would surely be disappointed.

Moments later, Fitz’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He couldn’t help but grin when he saw Jemma’s name flash on the screen. “Hey,” he answered. “Everything okay?”

“Did you send Hunter in here to talk me out of marrying you?”

“Hello to you too.” Fitz stretched out on the bed, phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear. “Course not.” Then, after a beat: “It’s not working, is it?”

“Oh, Fitz.”

“Don’t ‘oh, Fitz’ me. The man can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”

“He’s just prattling on about contingency plans.”

“Bobbi there?”

“Yes. I’m sure she’ll shut him up eventually.”

“Not sure how he got  _more_  vocal about his feelings about marriage since they got back together.”

There was a pause on the line. “Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you wearing the socks?” A smile spread on his face as he eyed them in his luggage.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Not even a little?”

“Didn’t even take the tags off.”

“Good,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t need them, either.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Another silence settled on the call.

“Hey, Jemma?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh, Fitz!” He was still laughing even after the line went dead. It didn’t matter. In another forty minutes, he’d be seeing her in person, and he’d never felt less nervous in his life.


	3. Skimmons brOTP + You’re flirting with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon on Tumblr. The prompt was "Skimmons + “You’re flirting with me.” (And let's be real, I'm incapable of writing things that AREN'T Fitzsimmons, so I took it as Skimmons friendship.) Near future.

Jemma hovered at the doorway to Skye’s bunk for a moment before continuing down the hall. After a few steps, she turned around and walked back to the door, pausing and peering in to see Skye cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a magazine. Furrowing her brow, Jemma took a few more steps past the door. **  
**

“I see you, Simmons.”

She froze, then popped her head around the doorframe. “Oh, hello, Skye! I didn’t see you there!”

Skye rolled her eyes. “Want to come in?”

“Oh, sure, I suppose I could, for a few minutes.” Jemma stepped inside the room and shut the door behind her. “Don’t let me bother you, though.” She stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of her, an unnerving smile on her face.

“Sit down; you’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.” Jemma sat on the bed beside Skye, one leg folded under her.

“You are. What’s up?”

“What makes you think something’s–”

“Simmons. How you made it undercover at Hydra, I’ll never know.”

Jemma finally let her smile drop, sighing. “Fine, fine. It’s just… I have a bit of an… odd request.” Skye nodded for her to continue. “I was just wondering if you would… that is, if you would be willing to give me some pointers on… flirting?”

Skye’s face was blank for a moment before she burst out laughing. “You want me to teach you to flirt?”

“Not  _teach_ ,” Jemma replied, affronted. “I know  _how_ to flirt. In a general sense. I was once quite good at it, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. You killed it at the Academy, I remember.”

“Precisely. That said, that was some time ago, and… my skills seem to have gotten a bit rusty.”

Skye laughed again, setting her magazine aside and turning to face Jemma. “And who have you been trying to flirt with to know that you’re no good at it anymore, hmm?

Jemma flushed pink, refusing to meet Skye’s gaze. “No one.”

“Right,” Skye said flatly. “A certain no one who can’t seem to stay out of the lab even though he’s officially assigned to the garage now?”

“Can you just help me?” Jemma finally looked Skye in the eye, and Skye could see that she was serious.

“Okay, okay. I’ll help, no questions asked. But you’re filling me in later, okay? I want details.”

Jemma nodded hesitantly, and Skye started to get excited. This could be fun.

“So show me how you would normally flirt. Like with an actual guy, not with Jasper Sitwell.”

Taking a deep breath, Jemma nodded once, getting in character. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at Skye. “So what projects are you currently working on?”

Skye furrowed her brow. “Me? I’m not working on anything right now.”

“No, Skye, I’m pretending you’re– I’m flirting with you.”

“Oh! Oh, that was the flirting?”

Jemma scowled a bit. “Yes?”

“Okay, well first lesson: not everything has to be about work. Or science. Or even if science really is foreplay for you nerds, you don’t have to lead with that.”

“Alright. Less work, more…”

Skye cocked her head. “More body language. Tilt your head to the side to show you’re really fascinated by what he’s saying.” She pulled her hair onto one shoulder, exposing her neck. “Play with your hair a little more, show a little tasteful skin.” She gave a fake little giggle, then reached out to run a hand down Jemma’s forearm. “Be a little touchier than you normally are. Compliment him.”

“Alright. So… “ Jemma tilted her head, blinking up at Skye, and tucked her hair behind her ears again. She laughed and covered Skye’s hand with her own. “Your skin is quite warm and yet you don’t seem feverish.”

“Really?”

Jemma cringed. “Not ideal?”

“On second thought– just stick with the science. It’s your thing, anyway.” Jemma laughed, nodding, and stood up from the bed.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I shouldn’t try to act like someone else, anyway.”

“Exactly. Not when whatever you’ve been doing for years seems to have gotten the job done.” Jemma nodded again, cheeks pink.

“Yeah. Thanks, Skye.”

“No problem.” Jemma opened the door to leave. “Wait–” She turned around, and Skye smirked at her. “Definitely go with the more touching thing, though. Just do it while you’re talking nerdy. It’ll do the trick.”

Jemma laughed, thanking her again and shutting the door behind her. Skye wondered if she should have mentioned that Fitz had come to her with the same odd request not three days prior, but shook her head with a chuckle. Those two would figure things out. 


	4. Skimmons brOTP + You're flirting with me part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For agentverbivore on Tumblr, who requested a follow up to the Skimmons + "You're flirting with me" minific (which is posted as Chapter 3 here). Near future.

Skye was just finishing up getting ready for bed when her stomach let out a growl. She’d gotten pulled into a meeting with Coulson during dinnertime, and evidently her hunger wasn’t going to let her hold off until breakfast.

She padded barefoot through the hallways to the kitchen, mentally cataloguing the foods that might not taste bad in spite of the fact that she’d just brushed her teeth. She finally settled on popcorn– popcorn always tasted good.

Three-and-a-half minutes later, she exited the kitchen with a mixing bowl piled high with mostly-unburnt popcorn. She tossed a piece in the air as she walked down the dim hall, attempting to catch it in her mouth and failing. The second one bounced off her nose, but the third was a bullseye.

As she shuffled past the doors to the lab, victoriously chewing, she noticed a light was on.  _Odd_ , she thought. Maybe Jemma was still up working. Skye eased the lab door open, figuring she might as well say hello.

Jemma wasn’t at her usual station near the lab entrance, so Skye moved further into the room, crunching as she went. Just as she was about to step around a tall shelving unit, she heard voices.

“So, um… what projects are you working on?”  _That’s Fitz’s voice!_  Skye ducked her head to peer between the metal shelves. She could see Fitz and Jemma standing at a lab station several feet away, though she was pretty sure they couldn’t see her.  _Of course Fitz would try to flirt using the same line Simmons tried_ , Skye thought.

“Oh, you know,” came Jemma’s reply. Her voice was pitched higher than usual. “Coulson still has me working on those bioreceptors.”

“Ahh, right, right.”

“But enough about work!” Skye cringed. Had Jemma just giggled? “I love that shirt you’ve got on,” Jemma continued.

“What, this?” Fitz looked down at his torso, then back at Jemma. “No, nah, this is nothing. Just blue plaid. You know what– who has a good shirt? Is you.” He winced, and Skye gaped at him from her hiding place. _Are you kidding me? Was that even English?_ Skye knew his inability to form a sentence had nothing to do with his brain injury. She remembered what he’d been like during her first few weeks on the Bus, back before he’d only had eyes for Jemma.

Somehow, Jemma seemed to understand, blushing pink as she smoothed the sides of her patterned blouse. “Thank you.”

“Do you, um… it looks like it’s made of good material,” he said. Skye wanted to bang her head against the shelf in front of her. Had he learned nothing from their lesson?

“Part silk, I think?” Jemma replied.

“Ahh. Silk. That makes sense.” Skye eyed the popcorn bowl still in her hands, debating if it was worth interrupting them if it meant she could dump it over Fitz’s head.  _Not a good enough reason to waste popcorn._ She popped a few pieces in her mouth and chewed them as quietly as possible.

She turned her attention back to the action, only to see Fitz reach out a hand– tentatively at first– and stroke it down the side of Jemma’s arm. He squeezed gently at the elbow before letting go, and she seemed to lean slightly into his touch even after it was gone. Skye tilted her head. Maybe he’d been listening after all.

“Yep. Um, feels… silky.” Jemma smiled up at him.  _This is working for her?_ Skye knew it had been a long time since she’d had a crush on someone who wasn’t a sociopath, but was this what she was like in that situation, too? Constant heart eyes?

Jemma’s brow furrowed suddenly, and she peered at the top of Fitz’s head. “What’s– is that– I think you have something–” She reached up and brushed at his short curls, nearly running her fingers through them for a little too long to seem natural. Her eyes grew wide as she pulled her hand back, almost guiltily.

“What was it?”

“Lint?”

“Oh. Well… did you get it all?”

Jemma licked her lips.  _Now we’re talking_ , Skye thought. _That’s some level two flirting_. “Perhaps not.” Jemma reached out again and began to brush her fingers through Fitz’s hair. As he let out a small sort of sigh at her touch, Skye decided that was enough voyeurism for one night.

“Those two have  _no chill whatsoever_ ,” she muttered to herself as she slipped out of the lab and retreated to her room with her popcorn. Her lips quirked into a smile anyway. They were going to be okay.


	5. Fitzsimmons + “things you said that made me feel like shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “things you said that made me feel like shit.” Takes place after Jemma tends to Mack in 2x15.

Fitz watched silently as Jemma returned to where he sat propped against the lab table. She lowered herself to sit back down beside him. When she turned her head to catch his eye, he looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

“How is he?”

She sighed. “Fine. Scraped up and bruised, but he’ll live.” Fitz nodded, and another long moment of silence passed as strangers milled about the lab around them.

“And you?”

Jemma clasped her hands in her own lap, ducking her head but still watching him out of the corner of her eye. “How am I?”

“Yeah.”

She licked her lips. “Fine.”

Fitz made a noise that was a cross between a chuckle and a sigh. “I know you’re not.”

“You  _don’t_  know—”

“Jemma, we’ve been friends for years. ‘Course I know.”

“Friends, are we? We’re using the present tense now?” She was clutching her hands together tightly and her voice was taut. Fitz let out a sigh, rubbing both hands over his face.

“I didn’t mean to say we aren’t friends now.” He didn’t want to look at her, but as ever, he couldn’t help himself. He pressed his lips together tightly as he watched her face. She set her jaw and swallowed.

“It certainly sounded as if you did.”

“Well,  _you_  certainly didn’t—” Fitz realized his voice had gotten louder, and he had no desire for their conversation to be overheard by the strange men and women taking up space in their lab. ( _Her lab now._ ) “You didn’t seem to take our friendship into consideration when—”

“Oh stop it, Fitz, just stop it.” She unclasped her hands, crossing her legs and turning her body to face him more fully. “You don’t like the way I handled things. I know. But if you think I did  _one single thing_  without you in mind— well, you’re wrong.”

He shifted a few inches so he could meet her glare with one of his own. “Trying to help me, yeah, you’ve said.”

“Because I  _was_.” She looked around the lab, seemingly aware of her own volume, then quieter: “All I wanted to do was help you. I would have done anything.” Eyes cast downward, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “If I had known we’d end up like this, just— just fighting all the time, I’d have…”

“What?” he whispered. He felt mad, indignant, just like he had for too long, but the anger felt further away, duller somehow. Maybe because there were so many strangers intruding on their—  _her_ — space, so many people he’d thought he could trust that it turned out he couldn’t, and the bottom line was that he did trust her. He always would.

She shrugged. “Done something differently. Done everything differently.”

Fitz nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.” She looked up, and the look on her face was so pained, so open, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit more of his anger slip away. He took a deep breath, glancing away from her to watch the action around him before looking at her again. He could see the barest hint of a smile on her face.

“So what now?” she asked, voice small. In spite of the men and women—  _soldiers_ — buzzing around them, the moment felt quiet and still. He watched her face for what felt like a long time, thumb minutely tapping out a rhythm on the fabric of his jeans. Then in the space of a breath, he reached out and took her hand where it was resting on her leg. He kept his eyes on hers as he let his fingers curl around her own. He breathed in and out once, twice, and then her mouth twitched and she covered his hand with her other one, squeezing gently.

As Fitz shifted so his back was against the lab table, tilting his head back to lean against it, he focused on the feeling of his hand between hers. His anger felt farther away than it had in a long, long time. In its place, in the midst of betrayal and commotion, in the middle of their lab, he felt the tiniest bit of calm. 


	6. Fitzsimmons + “Things you said when you thought I was asleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “Things you said when you thought I was asleep." Near future.

Jemma stirs, eyes fluttering open. She arches her feet, pointing her toes and stifling a yawn. Slowly, she becomes aware of the world around her– the glowing numbers on the digital clock on her bedside table. The hum of the air conditioner keeping the room cool and dry. The warm weight of Fitz’s bare chest pressed to her naked back, arm thrown across her waist…

Wait, that one’s new.

Her eyes open fully as the memories of the night before rush back into her mind. The lovely, wonderful,  _hot_  memories. A slow smile grows on her face as she allows herself to enjoy the feeling of him pressed up against her.

Fitz tightens his arm around her waist just slightly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, and Jemma can do nothing but grin like an idiot and stay perfectly still. She’s not willing to ruin this moment somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, not yet.

“Mmm, Jemma,” he whispers, so low and sleepily that she’s not sure if he’s even awake. She squeezes her eyes shut, wrinkling her nose and trying to hold in the happy noise she’s tempted to make. This moment feels perfect. Everything feels perfect.

“Please don’t leave,” he mumbles into her hair, and she stiffens suddenly, her stomach dropping. Whether he’s awake or not, she can feel his words thrumming through her whole body. He thinks she could leave him? Still?

Jemma swallows hard, arching her back just slightly to snuggle closer into him. Her eyes shut, and she pretends she doesn’t feel the tiny pinpricks of tears as his words roll around in her mind. She breathes in, then breathes out, simultaneously certain that she has no intention of ever leaving his arms, ever, and that she has no idea how to make him believe it.

Taking another deep breath in, she rolls over in her spot so that she’s pressed flush against him, sliding one hand around his waist and hitching a leg across his calf. She can see now that he is asleep– as least, as far as she can tell– and she presses a light, gentle kiss where she can reach on his chin. Tightening her grip on his waist, she exhales. “I won’t.” And she means it.  She only hopes that she can find a way to show him.


	7. Fitzsimmons + “Things you said when you were drunk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “Things you said when you were drunk." Pre-series.

“Alright, alright, just keep your eyes on your feet.” Jemma pulled Fitz’s arm tighter around her shoulders, taking on as much of his weight as she could while still walking them forward down the corridor. “Let’s just put one foot in front of the other and focus on not throwing up.”

“Not gonna throw up,” Fitz muttered, swaying a little even with her guidance.

“Well, here’s hoping.” After what seemed like forever, they reached the door to their apartment. She extricated herself from him, but kept a steadying hand on his shoulder as she dug through her purse for her keys and opened the door. After she helped him through it, he promptly dropped to his knees and tipped forward, sprawling out on his stomach on the living room carpet with a soft  _oof_.

Jemma couldn’t help but giggle. She was tipsy herself, but Fitz had matched her drink for drink and then some. She couldn’t even blame him, really— after all, just that afternoon he’d signed the paperwork that would send him out of the safety of the lab and into the uncertainty of the field. A night of frantic, panicked drinking was well-deserved.

“Simmons?” His voice was muffled by the carpet, and she laughed again.

“Yes, Fitz?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re here.”

“I’m here. We’re home. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a half truth if anything— they were home, but only for the next three weeks, and they were going somewhere, but at least they’d be together. He’d told her that was the only reason he’d agreed to the assignment, and she’d grinned at him as she signed her own papers, leaving out the fact that she would never have done so without him. She shook her head, which was already swimming with anticipation and apprehension. “Do you need some water?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded into the carpet. Jemma stepped around his body to fetch him a glass of water from the kitchen. As an afterthought, she dug the bottle of ibuprofen from their junk drawer and set both items beside him on the floor.

“Anything else I can get for you?” She contemplated a wastebasket, but Fitz had never been a vomity drunk. A competitive drunk and a huggy drunk, yes, but she’d rarely known him to get sick.

“No thank you,” he mumbled.

His politeness made her smile. “Alright, well I’m going to get you a blanket, and then I’ll let you get some sleep out here. Unless you think you can make it into your room?” He shook his head, pressing his cheek further into the carpet, and she didn’t envy the dimpled marks he’d have on his face in the morning. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She returned from the hall closet with a quilt to drape over him, and half-expected to hear his usual soft snores already. Instead, he groaned, shifting on the ground in an effort to get more comfortable. Once she placed the blanket over him, he blinked up at her with cloudy blue eyes.

“Goodnight, Fitz.” She turned to head to her bedroom, looking forward to diving headfirst into her nice, comfy bed, when he reached out in a motion that was far too quick for someone so drunk and grasped her ankle. She twisted around and looked down at him in surprise.

“Stay?”

She tilted her head, watching him there on the floor. His eyes were half closed, but he was still looking up at her with an open, vulnerable expression on his face. She thought about earlier in the afternoon, when they had sat in cold, metal chairs in a private S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room and signed paperwork that meant their lives would be changing very much, very soon. She thought about the way that Fitz’s pen had hovered over the signature line for a few beats too many, and how pen had finally met paper when she had placed her hand reassuringly on his back. She thought about how it was only then that she’d been able to initial and sign in the highlighted sections of her own paperwork, and the jolt of equal parts thrill and fear in her gut when Agent Richardson had said “Welcome to Level 7.”

Jemma took a breath, watching Fitz watch her with trusting eyes, and turned away. Her ankle slipped out of his hand easily as she crossed to her bedroom.

A moment later, she emerged with both pillows from her bed and a crocheted purple throw blanket. She set her pillow down beside Fitz, nudging at his face until he allowed her to wedge the other one underneath his head, and snuggled under the throw on her side, facing him. He smiled at her with his eyes shut, and she reached out to loosely link her fingers with his own, nestling into her pillow with a yawn. She may not have been in store for the best night’s sleep, but as ever, they were in it together.


	8. Fitzsimmons + “Things you said over the phone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “Things you said over the phone." Post-ep for 2x16 "Afterlife."

Jemma was in the lab when the call came to her mobile. She blinked at the unfamiliar numbers, heart in her throat as she scanned the room to make sure no one else was around before answering.

“Hello?” she said, her voice low.

“It’s me.” Then, after a beat: “Don’t say anything incriminating. They shouldn’t know you’re talking to me.”

The mild annoyance she felt at that comment– please, as if she didn’t know that already– was in stark contrast to the relief she felt from head to toe at the sound of his voice. She barely resisted rolling her eyes. “I know that… mum.”

“Mum, really?”

“How’s life in Sheffield? You are still in Sheffield, aren’t you?”

She drummed her fingers on the lab bench, pressing her lips in a tight line. She wished that they’d had time to work out an actual plan before he left.

He sighed. “I’m not going to tell you where I am. If you don’t know, then they can’t– they won’t–”

“Don’t worry about me, mum.”

“I’ll always worry about you.”

Jemma felt a jolt low in her belly at the conviction in his voice, and she shook her head against it. He was being stubborn. “I need to know.”

“You don’t.”

It was her turn to sigh. “Did you at least–”

“–find Coulson? Yeah, I did. Hunter, too.”

“Oh, that’s a relief!”

“Yeah, you won’t believe who else they’ve recruited to help them out here. But Jemma, I can’t go into detail, I wasn’t even supposed to call you. Coulson didn’t want to risk it, said we didn’t have time.”

“Oh.” She spotted an agent she didn’t recognize passing by the doorway to the lab, and lowered her voice, hunching over slightly with her phone pressed to her ear as if to guard their conversation. “Then why did you…”

There was a long pause on Fitz’s end. He cleared his throat. Another pause. Jemma was beginning to think he hadn’t heard her, and was about to say something when he finally spoke again.

“I wanted– needed to say thank you. For… for the sandwich.”

“Oh!” She perked up. “How was it?”

“Delicious,” he said, quite seriously. “And thank you for, ah. For the note, too.”

Her cheeks suddenly felt warm as she thought about the note, the one she’d deliberated over for much longer than its six words would indicate. “So you… you liked it?”

“I, um…I loved it, actually.”

Jemma ducked her head, fighting a smile as warmth bloomed in her chest. “Good, good.”

“Um, but there was one bit that worried me.” Her stomach dropped. Had she overstepped the dubious boundaries of their ever-changing relationship?  _Oh god, was the exclamation point too much?_

“What, um, what was that, exactly?”

Another pause. She brought up her free hand to rub at the side of her neck as she waited for his answer.

“You spelled ‘prosciutto’ wrong. Are you feeling alright, Jemma?”

A different kind of relief coursed through her veins. He was  _teasing_  her. She could  _hear_ the smile in his voice. She let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. “I’m going to hang up on you,  _mum_.”

“Oh, don’t do that to your old mum.”

“I will.”

“I know. I’ve got to go though. Hunter’s covering for me but he’s started throwing peanuts at me to tell me to hurry up.”

Jemma clutched the phone harder as if she could hold onto their conversation a bit longer. “Will I hear from you again soon?”

“‘Course. I’ll sneak away from Coulson if I have to… tell him I’m in the shower or something.”

She couldn’t help but grin, even as she tried to ignore the mental image that conjured. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly.

“I hope  _you’re_  okay,” he said even softer. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Yes, mum.”

“Be safe,” he said.

She whispered the same words, her words, back to him, then kept the phone to her ear even after the line went dead. She hoped fervently that they would be able to sort everything out quickly and return to the base. After all, they had spent far, far too much time apart already.


	9. Fitzsimmons + “Things you said with no space between us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt by MadameMare on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “Things you said with no space between us.” Near future, just after their first time together.

“Tell me again why we waited this long to do that?” **  
**

Jemma chuckled, rolling on her side to match his pose and snuggling up against him. “I’m afraid I can’t. I don’t know the answer myself.”

“Jemma Simmons doesn’t know the answer to a question?” Fitz tutted, and she could hear the smile in his voice even as she pressed her forehead against his chest.

She scoffed at that. “There are plenty of questions I don’t know the answer to. For one, how you’re  _quite_  so good at that?” He was silent for a moment, long enough to make her pull back just far enough so she could see his face. His eyes were wide as he looked down at her, his lips parted.

“I’m good at that?” he breathed. She’d expected a cocky retort, or at least a smug smirk, but his expression was all incredulity. Her heart swelled with feeling for him, and she stretched up to press her mouth against his in a soft, lingering kiss. His eyes stayed closed when she pulled away, and she kissed the corner of his mouth before settling back down to lie beside him.

“ _Quite_  good.”

“Um, so are you, you know. Good. At it,” he mumbled, curling around her so his lips brushed the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his skin. She shifted closer, letting the fingers of her free hand trail up and down his ribs. Had she ever touched Fitz’s ribs before tonight? In more than a decade of friendship, surely she must have had occasion to. She’d seen him shirtless a handful of times, ranging from the lighthearted ( _an ill-conceived pool party thrown by a SciTech colleague that had been interrupted by a torrential downpour_ ) to the embarrassing ( _walking in on him eating cereal in only his boxers at one in the morning when she’d brought one of her short-lived boyfriends back to their shared apartment_ ) to the difficult to think about ( _nine of the longest days of her life_ ). She couldn’t bring to mind a time that her fingers had actually danced across the smooth skin of his side, though, and she splayed her hand out, pressing her palm against his warmth, glad to have the opportunity now.

“So,” Fitz began, ghosting a hand over her hip. “What do you say to, ah. Doing that again?”

Jemma pulled back again to look at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Already?”

“Well…” He shrugged, smiling bashfully. “Not necessarily  _this minute_. But  _soon_.” She grinned at him and nodded.

“I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.” She nuzzled his neck, pressing soft kisses to his collarbone that she hoped might speed up the process just a tad. He stroked his fingertips up the center of her back and she shivered.

“After all,” he started, and she could feel the words rumbling in his chest. “I’d hate to make you wait. You know. If I’m  _that good_.”

Jemma curled against him, laughing and feeling light. She had no idea why they’d waited so long, she thought as she pulled him down to kiss her. If she had any say in it, though, they wouldn’t be making that mistake again.


	10. Fitzsimmons + “It’s our honeymoon and everything is super perfect and romantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “It’s our honeymoon and everything is super perfect and romantic.”

“Ugh,  _Fitz_!” Jemma wrinkled her nose. She tugged at the wrists of the gloves on both hands, carefully edging up the mountain.  _More like a hill_ , Coulson had equivocated.

Coulson had been wrong.

Jemma shifted her weight, balancing on the steep incline and turning back to look at Fitz, who was wobbling behind her. “What’s the problem  _now_?”

“We’re on our honeymoon,” he said, voice robotic and false in a way that reminded her they’d had this argument before. “Everything is super perfect and romantic.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and turned forward again, proceeding with the climb. “You know Coulson said we could have an actual honeymoon after this mission was over. You certainly can’t blame him that an 0-8-4 turned up the same day as our wedding.”

“I can certainly blame him for–whoa!–” Jemma whipped her head around and saw Fitz’s back leg slide on the rocks until he was doing a lunge, brows nearly reaching his hairline. His hands flew out to each side to balance himself, and he managed, tilting over only a bit. “–for taking on a mission during our reception. Did you know I never even got to try the chocolate fountain?”

Jemma sighed, looking ahead. “I told you a chocolate fountain was frivolous.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who hasn’t had wedding plans  in mind since you were twelve.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Precisely.”

With another sigh, Jemma stopped in place, digging her boots into the pebbly soil and swiveling to face Fitz. “Look at me.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to find the 0-8-4.”

“Okay.”

“We’re going to analyze its properties, as instructed.”

“Yeah.”

“And then we’re going to take a quinjet and fly to Italy. Or Paris. Or Aruba, honestly, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Fitz frowned. “Who’s going to pilot it?”

Jemma shifted a half-step down the mountain, letting her feet slide on the gritty gravel. “May said she’d take us wherever we wanted to go.”

“Is she going to join us on our honeymoon? Because I don’t know if–” Jemma cut him off with a kiss, leaning down to press her lips against his, and fisting her hand in the side of his shirt. He didn’t hesitate to give into the kiss, threading fingers through her hair and a hand of his own around her waist.

As they pulled apart, Jemma fought a grin. She’d learned what it took to silence Fitz when he got on a streak of questions. So far, he hadn’t seemed to mind.

“The sooner we find it, the sooner we can get  _out of here,_ ” she said, in a way she hoped was particularly tantalizing. Fitz’s eyes were wide, and he nodded at her suggestion. Jemma tried not to smile at his expression– she couldn’t go on finding him adorable forever, could she?– and turned around, focusing on the crunch of her boots in the thick sand. Not all honeymoons were created equal, she thought, but this one was certainly off to an interesting start.


	11. Fitzsimmons + Parks and Rec

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For agent-85 on Tumblr. Prompt: "Fitzsimmons/Parks and Rec"

“Science Festival? More like Science Bestival! Here’s a headline for you: Simmons Surprises City With Science Celebration of the Decade!” 

Skye Malwae-Tweep, who had stopped writing in her tiny notebook several words ago, wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t  _of the Century_  sound better?”

Jemma tilted her head to the side and bit her lip, deflating just a little bit. “Rats. Got me again, Malwae-Tweep.” Her eyes drifted to the park’s gate, and suddenly all her considerable energy was back. “Skye, Skye, have you met Fitz?” 

“No? I don’t think so.” 

Grinning widely, Jemma waved to a man in a plaid button-down with a slightly bewildered air about him. When he spotted her, though, his eyes lit up. He sped up his pace as he walked over to them. 

“Hi, Leopold,” Jemma said, a wicked smile on her face. The man brought his hand up to flatten his curls, eyes bright but bashful.

“Hi, Jemmapold. Jemma.”

Skye sighed, folding her notebook shut and pocketing it. She fumbled her pencil, leaned down to pick it up off the grass, and straightened back up, and they _s_ _till_ seemed not to have noticed her presence. She grimaced. It was just like she’d told herself the previous night over macaroni-and-cheese-for-one and a bottle of moscato– all the good ones were broke or gay. And now a new one to add to the list– head over heels for Jemma Simmons. 


	12. Fitzsimmons + “this is probably a bad time, but marry me?” and Fitzsimmons + “we’re assigned to this mission in which we have to pretend to be a married couple, but i’m actually really in love with you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A combo of a prompt from derevko and an anon on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “this is probably a bad time, but marry me?” and Fitzsimmons + “we’re assigned to this mission in which we have to pretend to be a married couple, but i’m actually really in love with you”
> 
> Post-finale AU as if none of the Fitzsimmons scenes in the finale happened (so she never said “maybe there is” and he never asked her to dinner and obviously she is not ensconced in a rock). 
> 
> Thanks to pleaseletmeshowyou for the quick beta!

Jemma thought it was a joke at first.

A mission in which she and Fitz were to be the only field agents seemed unlikely enough. Coulson’s insistence that they assume entirely false identities felt like a bit of a stretch.

But was it entirely necessary that their covers be married to each other?

“Yes, it is, actually,” Coulson said. “The Prime Minister is expecting a pair of married scientists. And you don’t want to know what happened the last time the Prime Minister was left out of the loop at an event like this.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty.”

All Jemma could do was nod, stealing a glance at Fitz. He looked determined, an almost eager glint in his eye as he listened to Coulson detail the mission. She thought, not for the first time, how much he’d changed since they’d first met.

Then he turned his head to look at her and offered her an encouraging smile, and suddenly all she could think about was how much he hadn’t.

And how blue his eyes looked even in the always-dim light of the Playground.

And how much older and more mature the dusting of stubble along his jaw made him appear.

And how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, turning his attention back to Coulson.

Jemma frowned. This was certainly going to be an interesting mission.

—

“So, um.” Fitz pushed the door to her bunk open, sliding in and shutting it behind him. Jemma looked up from her seat on the bed with a smile, forgetting about the suitcase she was packing. They were still getting used to invading each others’ spaces again. The thought that she liked the way he looked in her bedroom flitted through her mind, and she coughed.

“What is it, Fitz?”

He shifted his weight to lean his hip against her dresser, nearly missing it and stumbling slightly before catching the edge of it with one hand. She bit her lip to hold back a fond laugh. Face a little pink, he shook his head, then met her eyes again.

“This is probably a bad time, but…”

“It’s not a bad time,” she said.

“Marry me?” he said at the same time.

Jemma’s heart skipped in her chest as she watched him pull something out of his pocket and hold it out to her. A ring– a shiny, delicate band. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it, held aloft between his fingers.

“I just thought… if we’re going to be pretending to be married, you’ll need a ring, right?”

She dragged her gaze up to his face. He looked as hopeful as he did apprehensive. “Where did you…?”

“I, um. Made it?” He brought his free hand up to scratch lightly at his jaw, still holding the ring up with the other. “Out of some scrap metal. Sorry it’s not… it’s not a diamond or anything like that. Didn’t exactly have one lying around.” He chuckled awkwardly, almost to himself, and she realized that he’d been holding the ring up for an awfully long time.

“It’s lovely, Fitz,” she murmured, standing up and taking the ring from him. “You made this since Coulson gave us our assignment?”

He raised his eyebrows, shrugging. “Yeah? Didn’t take too long. Just wanted you to have… something.”

Jemma felt warm all over as she slid the ring onto her left hand. It fit perfectly. “How did you know my ring size?”

Fitz flushed, and she wondered if he could get any pinker. Or any more adorable. She bit her lip against that second thought. “I may have enlisted Skye’s help there.”

“So that’s why she asked if she could organize my jewelry box yesterday!” Fitz grinned sheepishly. “She told me mindless tasks like that helped her keep herself under control.”

“Well, I think that’s true,” said Fitz. “Just maybe not the  _whole_  truth.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, but smiled at the same time. She held her left hand out, admiring it. “It really is a lovely ring.”

Fitz cleared his throat, taking a hesitant step towards her. “You haven’t  _actually_  said yes, you know.”

“I haven’t what?”

He sucked in a breath, then held it for a moment. “I know we don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, but, um. It’s customary for the woman to say yes, isn’t it?”

“Oh!” Jemma let out a nervous laugh. Why was she so nervous? He wasn’t actually proposing. This was just for a mission, nothing more. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” She twirled the ring in a circle around her finger. “For the mission.”

“Right.” He watched her for a long moment before turning around to go.

“Wait,” she said. He looked back at her, hand still on the knob. “The man customarily wears a wedding band, too. Won’t it look odd if I’m the only one wearing a ring?”

He turned back to her, rubbing the fingers of one hand with his other one and nodding. “I, ah. I had some leftover metal, so I…” He reached into the same pocket that had held her ring and pulled out a matching one, a bit larger in circumference and slightly thicker. He pinched it between two fingers and held it up, biting his lip.

Jemma stared at the new ring for a moment before laughing– which came out breathier than she’d have preferred, if she were being honest. It only took two big steps to cross the room and stand right in front of Fitz, plucking the ring from his hand.

“It’s only fair…” she began. She looked from the ring to his face as he watched her, eyes wide. She took in a breath. “Fitz? Will you marry me?”

He stared at her, not blinking, before seeming to shake himself out of it. Then a tentative smile grew on his face as he nodded. “Yeah, Jemma, I will.” He took the ring from her and slid it onto his own finger, watching the action before offering her a belated, “For the mission.”

“Perfect.”

He nodded. “Right.”

They stood there for a moment, staring dumbly at each other. Jemma wished she could crawl inside his mind and know what he was thinking the way she used to. She kind of wished she could sort out the thoughts in her own head, as well. Finally, Fitz broke their gaze and turned to leave with a nod.

“See you in the morning,” Jemma said, begrudgingly returning her attention to her forgotten baggage.

“See you in the morning,” he echoed. He was halfway out the door before he turned back with a smirk. “Mrs. Fitz.”

She had no idea what to make of the fact that she felt a little thrill of excitement at that comment. So she ignored it. She shot him a look as he shut the door. “I think that’s Mrs. Fitz _simmons_ , thank you very much.”

She could hear his soft laughter down the hallway.

The rest of her night was spent packing, watching the glint of light that bounced off her new ring, and attempting to disregard the fact that she’d just gotten faux-engaged to her best friend in the world– and she kind of liked it the way it felt.


	13. Fitzsimmons + "all of your headcanons about the school breaks fitzsimmons spent together, go! (please)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For derevko on Tumblr, who requested "all of your headcanons about the school breaks fitzsimmons spent together, go! (please)." It ended up being more like a minific than a list :-)

 

> _Fall_
> 
>  

They barely know each other, and only just barely like each other. They’ve been partnered together in Chem lab for a few scant weeks, and the ice is thawing, but not enough for either of them to feel comfortable suggesting they spend a four-day weekend in the middle of October together. Fitz is content to spend the whole break indoors playing video games alone, and Simmons has high hopes of getting a head start on her Molecular Bio term paper with a cup of tea and her favorite flannel pajamas.

When Fitz accidentally starts a fire in his dorm while tinkering with the microwave ( _I’m telling you, Simmons, if I’d had just a few more minutes with the blasted thing, my EasyMac would have been TWICE as easy!_ ) and is forced to find another place to stay while maintenance completes the repairs, the only person he can think of to call is his tentative friend, who just looks at him quizzically for a moment before opening the door and letting him and his plaid duffel in. 

Though his dorm room may be in ruins, he can’t help but smile at the sight of her dark blue pajamas pants printed with pink and green Erlenmeyer flasks.

 

> _Winter_
> 
>  

Thanksgiving is just another day to two UK citizens, so while they decide to spend the day together, they don’t do anything involving a turkey. Well, unless you count the birds at the zoo, where Fitz less-than-casually suggests they go. They have a grand time, of course, particularly in the monkey house. Fitz eats six churros.

Christmas break isn’t quite as merry. They both fly home for the week, and even though they’re in the same time zone, it feels slightly off-putting to be so far apart. Simmons reminds herself that she hasn’t seen her parents in months, and Fitz’s heart is full at the sight of his mum opening the Christmas gifts that Simmons helped him pick out, but neither can shake the pervasive sense of it not feeling quite like Christmas.

That night, late, after Fitz’s mum is in bed and Simmons’ parents have retired to their study to read by the fire, he dials her number and she picks up before the first ring ends. As soon as she wishes him a happy Christmas, the knot in Fitz’s stomach ( _present all day even as he polished off his third helping of his mum’s famous pudding_ ) begins to unknot itself.

 

> _Spring_
> 
>  

Spring break at the Academy isn’t like it is at the universities where Fitz and Simmons earned their earlier degrees (though it’s not as if they took full advantage of those debaucherous vacations, either). They get a paltry three-day weekend, throughout which it rains more often than not. That Monday Simmons wakes to find the sun peeking out and insists on dragging Fitz outdoors to enjoy it.

If he gets sunburned almost immediately, the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose turning redder than the time he tried to order a drink from the bartender at the Boiler Room by saying “I’d love Sex on the Beach, please,” well, it’s not Simmons’ fault he didn’t thoroughly apply sunscreen, is it?

 

> _Summer_
> 
>  

They stay at the Academy during summer term, determined to be the youngest graduates in Academy history. (They’d be the youngest in history even without their summer credits, but if you’re going to do something, you do it right, says Simmons to Fitz over warm tea mugs and her planning notebook). 

There’s a week-long gap between the end of summer term and the start of the fall, and while Simmons wants to pop home for a visit, Fitz can’t afford to. He’s still paying off his credit cards from the Christmas trip. So she stays, too, rebuffing his insistence that he’d put her on a plane himself if he had to.

Jemma Simmons always gets her way, so she does stay, and it’s a whole week of Doctor Who marathons, trips to the park (she squeezes sunscreen into her palm when he’s not looking and attacks him with it, gripping him firmly by the shoulder and rolling her eyes as he glares), highly productive afternoons in the deserted SciTech labs, and one or two late night conversations on Simmons’ couch when they’ve both had enough illicitly-gotten beers to talk a little slower and sit a little closer than usual. 

Fitz thinks maybe it’s the best week of his life.


	14. Fitzsimmons + “lazy Saturday”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this Fitzsimmons “lazy Saturday” aesthetic photoset made by the lovely fitzsimmmonsy on Tumblr: http://fitzsimmmonsy.tumblr.com/post/120744344638/fitzsimmons-lazy-saturday-aesthetic. 
> 
> Fitzsimmons moving into their first house. Future.

“This is the last of it, I think.” Fitz’s voice was muffled by the large cardboard box he held, obscuring his face. He hoped he remembered the floor plan of the new house well enough to avoid tripping on any rogue stairs or bumping into any errant walls.

“I’m in here!”

He followed the sound of Jemma’s voice down the hall to the master bedroom– their bedroom. Once he crossed the threshold, he let the cardboard slide ungracefully to the carpeted floor with a thump. “Watch it,” she said, looking up at him from where she sat on the floor. “There could be breakables in that one.”

“Nah, this one’s just bedding. You should know. See?” He pointed to the label affixed to the box, marked “MASTER -> LINENS -> BED” in her neat handwriting.

Jemma rolled her eyes at him, turning back to the box she'd been unloading and carefully unwrapped another picture frame. “You’ll appreciate my attention to detail once you actually start unpacking.”

“Oh, will I?” He nudged the box to the side with one foot and strode to where she sat, plopping down onto the carpet behind her. “Are you saying I don’t usually appreciate your attention to detail?” He slid a hand around her hip and scooted in closer, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulder. “I feel like I really appreciated your attention to detail last night.” He kissed up the side of her neck to the spot just below her ear that always made her shiver. She shivered.

“Yes, you were very appreciative last night.”

“Mmhmm.” He tucked a finger under the strap of her tank and slipped it off her shoulder, then followed its progress with his mouth. “I’d be happy to appreciate you some more right now, if you’re feeling underappreciated.”

She let out a throaty chuckle and shifted forward, reclining so her head lay in his lap. He leaned back on one hand, the other immediately moving to thread through her hair as she looked up at him.

“Fitz.”

“Jemma.”

“We’re in our bedroom.”

“I know.” He raised his eyebrows at her, then looked pointedly at the bare bed in the middle of the room.  

She reached back and cupped her hand over his knee, scratching her fingernails lightly over the fabric of his jeans. “In  _our_  bedroom in  _our_  house.”

“I should hope it’s our house. Otherwise someone’s going to be pretty upset to come home and find all our stuff in it.” He ducked down and kissed her forehead to avoid the imminent eyeroll.

“It’s a big deal, Fitz.”

He gently removed her head from his lap, scooting all the way down to lay on his side on the floor, eye to eye with her. She reached out a hand to link with his in between them. “I know,” he said. “It’s a big deal.”

Jemma shuffled closer to him on the carpet, stretching up to press her mouth to his. He let go of her hand to slide his across her waist and tugged her even closer, humming happily into the kiss.

After a few moments, she pulled away with a little contented sigh. “I suppose we should put this on hold for now. Unpack for a bit.”

“No, that’s a bad idea, actually.” He caught her lips with his again, slipping his fingers just under the hem of her shirt. “Tomorrow.”

“Fiiitz.” She laughed, but didn’t pull away when he kissed her again.

“Tomorrow. I’ll program Sleepy to do it for us.”

This time she did pull back, brows knitting together. “Wouldn’t Bashful be more well-suited to the task?”

He grinned widely at her. “Good point.”

“Sleepy, Fitz? Honestly.” She shook her head.

“Don’t know what I was thinking,” he said as she pulled him in for another kiss.

“Nor I. We do need to unpack at least one box right now, I think.”

“Why?” he whined, giving her his best puppy eyes. In response, she just nodded her head at the box he’d shoved against the wall beside the entrance to the room– bedding. “Oh!” And then he was on his feet, tearing at the packing tape that held it closed.

She sat up on the floor and smiled up at him. “I’m not sure either one of us has been  _fully_ appreciated today.”

Holding up a pile of folded sheets, he nodded. “Woefully  _under_ appreciated, in fact.”

“Let’s remedy that, shall we?”

“Mm, let’s.”

Fitz decided right then and there that, despite what anyone claimed, moving day wasn’t actually half bad.


	15. Fitzsimmons + “Hey, have you seen the… Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For shieldsil on Tumblr. The prompt was Fitzsimmons + “Hey, have you seen the… Oh.”  
> Relative future, once Jemma returns from Rockville.

Jemma pulled off her safety goggles and stowed them neatly in their drawer. It was 9 p.m., later than she normally stayed in the lab– but what was normal anymore, anyway?

As she strode toward the exit, the couple of agents who were left in the lab seemed to arc away from her like magnets of reverse polarity. She kept her eyes firmly on the ground, grateful the hallway she entered was empty.

She’d been back four days. She’d been gone five months and two weeks, but she’d been back four days. In those days, she’d quickly transitioned from feeling like a sideshow oddity (poked and prodded in the quarantine pod) to feeling like the kid nobody wanted to play with on the playground. Even Coulson and Skye had given her a wide berth– “room to get readjusted,” they’d said, but really it just felt like distance.

She didn’t hurry down the hall toward her bunk. And she didn’t let herself think about the other agent who’d been keeping his distance since she’d returned.

Sure, Fitz had hugged her so tightly when she’d emerged from the rock, cold and dazed, that she’d thought he was trying to absorb her entire being. And he’d never let his eyes drift away from her form during her debrief. And he’d slept in an uncomfortable, molded plastic chair for the 28 hours she’d spent in quarantine.

But since then, she’d barely caught a glimpse of him. It was like he, along with everyone else, saw her as a puzzle to be figured out or feared. And she couldn’t tell him that the promise of dinner with him– somewhere nice– had stuck with her even as she hadn’t known where she was, or even what she was, for those five months. How could she tell him anything, when he wasn’t even around?

She dragged her boots along the concrete floor toward her bunk, but eventually she got there anyway. She keyed in the code, shut the door behind her and quickly changed into her pajamas. Then, stepping into a pair of slippers, she made a move for the neat pile of weekly science journals that Fitz had dutifully stacked beside her bed during the 22 weeks she’d been gone. She was determined to work her way through them, determined not to miss out on everything that had gone on in this world while she wasn’t in it.

But they weren’t there.

Brow furrowed, Jemma glanced around the room to no avail. Her bunk was tidy, and if there were a foot-high stack of science periodicals somewhere, she’d notice it. The only possible answer was that someone had taken them.

And the only person who knew the code to her bunk and had any interest in science journals slept three doors down.

Before she could talk herself out of it– after all, thumbing through a journal before bed had become her new routine, and Jemma ached for routine these days– she stepped out into the hallway and toward his bunk. Her stomach knotted with every step she took, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. She’d just ask him about the journals, take them back and return to read in bed. It was as simple as that.

She took a deep breath before knocking on his door. Meanwhile, she chastised herself mentally for being nervous. Fitz wasn’t upset with her, she reasoned– he’d just grown more distant while she was gone. Cooled in his feelings for her. She couldn’t blame him, though her feelings were just as strong as they had been months prior.

She knocked. And waited. Seconds passed that felt longer, and she held her breath, as if that would help her somehow. Finally, the door began to swing open.

“Hey, have you seen the…” she began, before the door fully opened and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh.”

Fitz stood in the doorway before her, brows knitted together and a nervous expression on his face. But it wasn’t Fitz that surprised her– it was what was behind him.

Nearly every spare surface of his bunk was covered in lit candles, vases of flowers and fairy lights. Peering around him, she could see that he’d tidied up– at least, since the last time she’d seen his bunk, nearly six months ago. He had even made up his bed– on top of which, she finally noticed, was a wooden tray that held two plates of food and a bud vase.

“What on earth, Fitz?”

He sucked in a breath, stepping back. “Sorry, I took your journals.” He shuffled backward to let her fully enter the room. “I hoped that would get you in here. I just thought– you might still like to have dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“I know it’s not nice…” His eyes were trained on the ground, even as he shut the door behind her. “But I wasn’t sure if you were ready to leave the base yet, or if you even wanted to, and Skye and Coulson helped me plan this, gathering candles and flowers and all that…”

“They helped you?”

In spite of his obvious nervous, Fitz let out a little chuckle. “They were both so afraid of giving the surprise away. I kept telling them it didn’t have to be a surprise, but… you know how they can be.”

Jemma felt the telltale pinprick of tears at the back of her eyes, and blinked rapidly. “You still want to have dinner with me?”

Fitz looked gobsmacked, eyes wide and jaw dropped. “I never stopped.” He took a tiny step closer to her. “Every night, when I ate dinner… when I was even able to eat dinner… I wished it was with you.”

“Oh, Fitz.” Jemma swallowed over a lump in her throat. She stepped forward, her fingers twitching at her side with the desire to reach out and touch him.

“So…” He looked down, then up, meeting her eyes with his blue ones, burning bright. “What do you think? Dinner?”

Jemma smiled, a real smile, her first real smile since long before she’d been thrust out of the Kree rock. She nodded. At the moment, sandwiches in Fitz’s bunk was the nicest meal she could ever imagine.


	16. Fitzsimmons + “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For agent-85 on Tumblr. Fitzsimmons + “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Near-ish future. Established relationship.

Jemma yawned, rolling over onto her side and propping her tablet up against the other pillow. The notably cool, empty pillow. The words on the screen began to blur, her eyelids heavy. She blinked a few times to try to wake herself up, though at 3:42 a.m., was there really any point?

She huffed with annoyance and pressed the button to lock the tablet. Perhaps it was time to give up and go to sleep. Just as she was tucking the device into her bedside drawer, the door to her bunk slid open to reveal a tiptoeing Fitz. He straightened up when he saw her sitting in bed, wide-awake.

“You’re still up!” He smiled sleepily at her, shutting the door behind him as one hand began to work the buttons on his shirt. He shed his clothes as he crossed the room, toeing off his shoes beside the dresser and tossing his button-down and jeans over her desk chair. She didn’t have the energy to chastise him for that as he climbed into bed. He flopped onto the mattress and pulled the covers over himself, snuggling up close to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Of course I’m still up.” She kept her body stiff instead of melting into his embrace, though she couldn’t resist tangling her fingers with his where they lay on her stomach. “When I left the lab  _hours_  ago, you said you were right behind me.”

Fitz sighed, his warm breath tickling her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you know how I get when I’m making progress with a project in the lab. I can’t put it down.”

“Oh yes, I’m well aware,” she said. He nuzzled his nose against her cheek and after a few seconds of resistance, she gave in, rolling until she faced him. “You still need to rest, Fitz.”

“I know.” He closed the short distance between them to press a soft, sleepy kiss to her lips. “But the plane’s engine upgrades are important. Did you know this could shave a full–”

“–a full zero-point-nine seconds off takeoff time,” she finished. “Yes, I know.”

He chuckled. “Guess I have been talking about it quite a lot lately.”

“I’ll say. It’s been occupying your time all day for days, and now all night, too.”

“Don’t you want us to have the best equipment we possibly can?”

“Of  _course_  I do.” Jemma rolled her eyes. “But I’d also quite like to be able to spend time with my boyfriend on occasion. Time not spent debating the aerodynamics of various weapons-grade metals.” Fitz raised his eyebrows, and she relented. “Okay, fine, time not  _only_  spent debating metal aerodynamics. It would just be nice if that wasn’t the  _only_  thing on your mind.” She drew her hand up to his face, stroking along his jawline before sliding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes with a quiet hum.

“Wait a minute. Jemma Simmons– are you jealous? Of science?” He opened his eyes, watching her with an amused smile on his face.

She scoffed. “I am  _not_  jealous.”

“You are!” His palm skimmed across her hip to the small of her back, pulling her even closer to him. She wrinkled her nose and frowned.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Yet accurate.”

Jemma huffed, tightening her grip on his curls and tugging gently. “I suppose… well,  _jealous_  is not the word  _I_  would use, but… But I suppose I have been missing this these past few days.”

“This?”

“This.” She leaned in for another kiss, this one slower and more heated. When she pulled back, he followed her, sneaking another kiss before breaking apart with a smile.

“I might be able to schedule a few more breaks tomorrow.”

“Oh really?”

“And then tomorrow night– I’ll be out of the lab by 7.”

Jemma barked a laugh. “Oh please, Fitz. You do know I have projects of my own to work on, too.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll both set aside our work by 9. Maybe watch a movie?”

Jemma nodded in agreement, sliding her foot up his calf under the covers. “Or something.”

“Or something,” he echoed with a raised brow. He leaned up to kiss her forehead before reaching over her to switch off her bedside lamp. “Now– sleep.”

She nodded and snuggled into his side. Sleep began to tug at her right away, and she felt her limbs grow pleasantly heavy. “ _Not_  jealous,” she mumbled just before she drifted off. Jemma Simmons didn’t get jealous, but she  _did_  get the last word. 


	17. Fitzsimmons + “if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon prompt on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + “if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed." Relative future, once Jemma returns from Rockville. Newly established relationship. Rated T to be safe.

“The base seems to be abandoned, but we can’t be sure until we have eyes on the ground,” said Coulson as aerial surveillance photos flashed on the holoscreen. Fitz tried to listen intently, but an enormous yawn broke his concentration. If he’d thought he’d get more sleep once Jemma was back at the Playground safe and sound, then he’d been woefully, blissfully wrong.

Speaking of Jemma… Fitz let his gaze drift from the screen to his– girlfriend? Was that the right word?– who stood four agents away. He felt a creeping blush when he realized her eyes were already on him. She quirked an eyebrow, then nodded to the tablet in his hands.

“What?” he mouthed at her, but she just nodded toward the device more insistently. Finally, he flipped it open and keyed in his passcode. She’d sent him a message.

_[Jemma Simmons]: Is it bad that I truly hope we don’t get assigned to this mission?_

Fitz chuckled quietly. He’d been thinking the same– since her return, he’d felt more compelled than ever to keep her out of harm’s way. And more compelled than ever to spend every waking moment with her. Fortunately, Fitz felt those goals went hand-in-hand. Chancing a quick glance at Coulson, who was now elaborating on the mystery base’s former occupants, Fitz typed out a response.

_[Leo Fitz]: Not at all. Could interfere with our dinner-and-a-movie plans. Can’t have that._

Her nose wrinkled happily when she received his message on her own device, swiftly tapping out a reply.

_[Jemma Simmons]: Not sure I fully approve of your mac-and-cheese-pizza idea, but I’m looking forward to Terminator 2._

He grinned at her, shrugging– she just had to  _taste_  the pizza, and he knew she’d love it. He flipped his tablet closed and diverted his attention back to Coulson, but immediately felt it buzz in his hands. He opened it to see another message.

_[Jemma Simmons]: Especially since we’ve both already seen it._

Fitz frowned at her. Had she already seen it? Perhaps he should pick a different movie? His tablet buzzed once again, and he made sure Coulson’s back was turned before swiping to read.

_[Jemma Simmons]: Because I don’t intend to spend even a moment watching the movie._

His frown deepened. So now she  _didn’t_  want to watch a movie? He let out a little huff and shot her a confused glance, wishing not for the first time that he had a little more experience in the relationship department. Should he have picked a different activity entirely?

When he met her gaze, she raised her eyebrows at him in response. He raised his back in question. She gaped at him, then gave a huge sigh, muttering “oh, for heaven’s sake” under her breath in a voice he hoped Coulson couldn’t quite hear, and began typing again.

 _[Jemma Simmons]: Because there are much more entertaining activities in which two people such as ourselves might partake while in bed?_  
_[Jemma Simmons]: Honestly, Fitz. Keep up._  
_[Jemma Simmons]: Sex. I’m speaking of sex._

Oh.  _Oh_. So she was. Fitz could feel himself redden again, and he closed his tablet resolutely. He faced the front of the room, but his eyes kept darting over from Coulson’s diagrams to Jemma’s lascivious stare, focused completely on him.  _Dear god, that look should be illegal._ He gulped, flipping open his tablet again to type out a message.

_[Leo Fitz]: If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed._

She snuck a look at her device, then bit her lip enticingly. As if from far away, Fitz could hear Coulson wrapping up his mission briefing.

“…May, Skye and I will go in first. Bobbi, I need you and Mack to maintain a perimeter around the base. Fitzsimmons?”

“Uhh… yes, sir?” said Fitz, stuffing one hand in his pocket and crossing his fingers.

“I think you two should sit this one out. Simmons, I’m sorry, but I would just feel better knowing you were here, and in good hands for this one.”

Jemma’s expression brightened for a moment, then she drew her brows together in an attempt at seriousness. “Yes, sir. Frankly, I agree.” She looked at Fitz out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll feel much better being in Fitz’s good hands, myself.” Fitz coughed a few times before nodding, looking anywhere but at Coulson.

“Then it’s settled. Hunter, you’re on comms. Wheels up in 10.” The group began to scatter, and Fitz hurried to catch up with Jemma, who was already halfway down the hall toward the residential wing of the base. Once beside her, he checked over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before reaching out to pinch her gently on the hip.

“Really, Jemma? Sexting in a mission briefing?”

She rolled her eyes. “That was  _hardly_  sexting.”

They reached the door to her bunk, and she keyed in her code. “Still,” Fitz said, voice low. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Jemma swung the door open and walked backwards into the bedroom, one hand already working at the buttons on her blouse. She smirked at him as he shut the door behind them. “Gladly.”


	18. Fitzsimmons + “I almost lost you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for somefitzsimmonsfan on Tumblr. Fitzsimmons + “I almost lost you.” Relative future, a couple days after Jemma returns from Rockville.

Jemma stirred her tea slowly, watching the liquid ripple and swirl in the ceramic mug. It was the kind of beauty she’d taken for granted before, but now she felt transfixed. Three months and eight days spent silent and suspended in another dimension tended to do that to a person.

The door to the kitchen suddenly swung open a little too hard, and the knob struck the wall behind it with a thump. Jemma jumped, her spoon clattering to the countertop and her eyes flying to Fitz.

“Sorry, sorry.” He grimaced in apology at the door. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s quite alright, Fitz.” She set her spoon in the sink and picked up her mug, stepping around the counter and gravitating closer to him.

“I just, um.” He shuffled forward. “Wasn’t sure where you were. I checked the lab–”

“Oh, right, I said I’d be working all morning, didn’t I?” She sighed, gaze dropping momentarily to the floor. “I was there ‘til just a few minutes ago, but it just got a bit…”

“Overwhelming?”

She met his eyes again, feeling warm at the way he knew exactly what she meant. She nodded. “I’ve been away for quite awhile.”

Fitz stepped closer to her, bringing his hands up to rest at his waist. “I’ll say.”

“I thought perhaps some tea would settle my nerves.” She held up her mug, brows raised in a question. “Would you like some? I would have made you a cup, too, had I known you were finished in the garage.”

“No! No, that’s okay. I, uh…” Fitz scratched at one eyebrow and shuffled a little closer to her, until they were standing just a foot or two apart. “I’m not technically finished. Actually.”

Jemma sipped her tea, hiding a smile behind the cup. “So you just… wanted to check up on me?”

“Well…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, rolling forward on the balls of his feet just a bit and looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, no, I wasn’t… I’m not…”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. She may have been gone awhile, but she still knew a Fitz fib when she saw one. “Fitz.”

He finally met her eyes again, looking abashed. After a beat, he sighed. “I rigged the CCTV feed from the lab to run through my tablet. I’ve been keeping an eye on it as I worked.” He shrugged, one hand rubbing at the other in front of him. “I glanced down at my schematics for just a second, and when I looked at the feed again, you were nowhere to be seen.”

“So you came to look for me?” She tried to keep her voice even. She was torn between feeling miffed at his overprotectiveness, and feeling like he was unaccountably sweet. “You know, I’m going to be out of your sight from time to time.”

“Yes, but–”

“You can’t watch over me every moment; that’s just–”

“I know that, but I–”

“Fitz, I was gone from the lab three minutes–”

“Yeah, but you were gone from here for three  _months_ ,” he blurted out. His eyes were dark and a little sad, and she sucked in a long breath as he continued. “I almost lost you. I thought I might have lost you. And– and I  _keep_  almost losing you. This wasn’t even the first time. It  _keeps happening_.”

She frowned. For a moment they both just stood there, breaths coming out a little jagged, and then she twisted to set her mug down behind her. She turned back to him, reaching out and grabbing onto his forearm, letting her hand slide down the sleeve of his soft cardigan until she was holding his hand. He squeezed hers immediately with a small smile.

“I’m right here, Fitz.”

“For now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She let go of his hand, then hesitated for only a moment before stepping in and wrapping her arms around him tightly. He immediately sank into the embrace, one hand rubbing up and down her back in a gesture more soothing even than the slow stirring of tea. She rested her forehead against the warm skin of his neck, feeling more tethered to this dimension than she had in the few days she’d been back in it.

“Promise?” he mumbled against her hair, and she laughed, nodding.

“You’re stuck with me.” She breathed in his scent and focused on how his chest rumbled with a chuckle, and the way she could just hear his heart beating when she pressed her ear in closer, and thought maybe it might actually be okay with her if he never let her out of his sight again.


	19. Fitzsimmons + "Jemma is a stressbaker and Fitz, instead of saying that she should go to sleep, helps her with baking stuff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jemmamaximoff on Tumblr, who responded to my "Come into my askbox and tell me what kind of fic you wish I'd write" meme with "I wish you would write a fic where Jemma is a stressbaker and Fitz, instead of saying that she should go to sleep, helps her with baking stuff." Future fic, established relationship.

“J’mma?” Fitz got a mouthful of pillow when he said her name. He wrenched his eyes open, unfocused at first, and pushed himself up on one elbow to see that the other side of the bed was empty, the duvet neatly tucked into place.

So what had woken him up?

He flopped onto his back on the bed with a yawn and listened. Just as his eyes began to slip shut again, he heard it: three telltale beeps.

The oven was preheated. 

Heaving a sigh, Fitz slid out from beneath the covers and padded down the hallway to their small kitchen. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her for a few moments before she noticed him. She had her hair up in one of those knots he could never understand and still wore the tank top and shorts she’d put on before bed the night before. 

“Let’s see, butter, butter, butter,” she muttered, opening up the fridge and shifting her weight restlessly back and forth. “If I were butter, where might I be?”

Fitz smirked, coming up behind her and reaching over her shoulder to pull the butter tray down from the second shelf. She jumped in surprise when his arm grazed hers, immediately shooting him an apologetic look.

“’M glad you’re not butter,” he said, then cleared his throat to get the gravelly sleep out of his voice. 

“Me too,” she said with a tiny smile. She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, then whirled around to place the butter on the countertop. He closed the fridge door and hoisted himself up to sit on the counter next to it, watching her work. “Sorry if I woke you up,” she said.

“It’s fine. You didn’t, really.”

Jemma quirked an eyebrow at him over her shoulder.

“Okay, fine, you did.” He drummed the fingers of one hand on the counter. “You know I can’t sleep as well when you’re not in bed.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, smiling at him as she tipped butter into a metal mixing bowl. She held his gaze for a sweet, long moment before frowning. “Where did I put the–”

“Sugar?” He reached back to open the cabinet behind his head and pulled out a bag, tossing it to her. 

“Thanks.” 

“What’re you making, anyway? At…” He craned his neck to see the oven clock. “3:47 in the morning?”

“A cake.”

 _Hang on._ “Jemma.”

“What?” She kept her gaze determinedly on the bowl of ingredients as she portioned out the sugar and stirred it in with a spatula. 

“Don’t you think there’s going to be enough cake tomorrow?”

“Are you telling me that Leo Fitz is complaining about too much cake?” She gave the bowl one last stir before turning to him and holding out the spatula. She cupped a hand underneath it to catch any drips, and he dutifully took a fingerful of batter and brought it up to taste it. “Well?”

“Delicious,” he said, sucking the last of it off his index finger. “But why–”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She sighed. She stuck the spatula back in the bowl of batter and crossed to where he sat, nestling her hips between his knees and resting a hand on each thigh. “I’m not nervous, I promise.”

“I know.”

Her brow furrowed. “Are  _you_ nervous?”

“No. If I was, I’d be the one up at all hours making superfluous baked goods.” He chuckled and brought a hand up to her jaw. “If you’re not nervous, then why can’t you sleep?”

Jemma leaned into his touch, smiling serenely. He did know her well, and she was telling the truth– that wasn’t her nervous smile. “Honestly? I think I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Me too. Well, except for the sleep part. I’m never too anything to sleep.”

“This is true.”

He scratched his fingertips gently against the back of her neck, pulling her closer and leaning down to meet her halfway. “About the excited part, though. Yeah. Me too.” 

She grinned as he kissed her, slow and sleepy. His yawn broke the kiss, though, and she laughed. 

“Go back to bed, Fitz.” She squeezed his leg gently before turning back to her mixing bowl. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m finished in here.”

He wanted to resist, but he really  _was_  tired, and they really  _did_  have a big day to rest up for. Instead, he hopped off the counter and shuffled out of the kitchen, pressing a kiss to the side of her head as he passed her. 

“Night, Jemma.”

“G’night, Fitz.”

When he reached the doorway to the rest of the apartment, he turned back to her. “Oh, Jemma?”

“Mmhmm?”

He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Maybe save icing the cake for  _after_ the wedding?”


	20. Fitzsimmons + Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr for thefitzsimmonsnetwork‘s Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week. Day one prompt: Family. Takes place just after Jemma returns from Rockville, and for the sake of the story, assumes that happens in late November.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Fitz ran an idle finger along the countertop of the base’s kitchen. “You’re only just out of quarantine.” He paused, observing Jemma as she bustled from the refrigerator to the stove and back again. “And we don’t even  _celebrate_  Thanksgiving.”

“No, but the others do.”

“But couldn’t they–”

She pinned him with a look. “Half of them are away on a mission, anyway. And do we really want May to cook Thanksgiving dinner?”

Fitz frowned, remembering what they’d heard from Andrew about May’s inferior cooking prowess. “Apparently not.”

“It’s fine. Just– help me mash these potatoes.” The pair worked in silence for a few moments, as Fitz tried to find a way to broach the subject that had been nagging him since the expedition that had retrieved her from the Kree homeworld. He pressed the potato-masher hard into a particularly dense tuber, then leaned his chin on the handle.

“Hey, Jemma.”

“Mmhmm?” She barely looked up from the large squash as she sliced it.

“D’you think– that is, I was just…” He took a breath, remembering the way she’d clung to him so tightly during her first moments back on Earth. He’d pressed kisses across her cheeks and forehead, and she’d dug her fingertips into his back and sides, refusing to let go until Coulson had physically pulled her away for debrief followed by quarantine. Since then, nearly every interaction Fitz had had with her had been in the presence of some team member or another, as no one felt completely comfortable letting Jemma out of their sight. Fitz, of all people, understood that.

“What is it, Fitz?” Her voice was soft, and she set down the knife to turn to face him.

“D’you still think maybe we could have dinner? Sometime? Just the two of us?” He let it all out in one breath, then stopped breathing as he waited for her response.

She swallowed, lips quirking up into a nervous smile. “It’s just– I wanted to make sure we had dinner with everyone tonight. It being a holiday and all.”

Fitz nodded, eyes downcast. “‘Course.” He scuffed a toe against the tile and tried not to wish the floor would swallow him whole.

“But tomorrow night–”

His gaze flicked up to meet hers. “Yeah?”

“I know it’s not exactly somewhere nice, but– I wouldn’t be opposed to leftover turkey sandwiches in my bunk. Just the two of us…would you?”

A slow smile crept across his face. “Sounds delicious.”

She let out a relieved breath. “Good. Because I already prepared an extra fruit pie just for that.”

“I’d hate for that to go to waste,” he said gravely.

“I’m sure you would,” she murmured. She gave him a warm smile, then turned back to her squash. He had a thought, and let out a little chuckle. He couldn’t resist indulging it, even if it kind of crossed a line he hadn’t quite crossed with her yet.

“Hey, Jemma?”

“Mmhmm?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he tried to keep a straight face.

“What kind of fruit is in the pie?”

“Oh, it’s a–”

“Is it a  _date_  pie?”

He held his breath, and she looked momentarily stunned, but then burst out in laughter that shook her shoulders and made her drop her knife onto the cutting board. To Fitz’s ears, it sounded incredible.

When her laughter died down, she turned fully to face him, leaning back against the counter with a grin that finally, finally, looked happy. “No, Fitz, sorry to say, it’s blackberry pie.”

Fitz nodded, picking up his potato masher as she turned back to her squash. Despite her laughter, a part of him wondered if she’d misunderstood his meaning. He’d be content with  _any_  type of pie, but–

“But Fitz?”

He looked up from his bowl to see her watching him over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

She grinned wider. “It’s definitely a date.”


	21. Fitzsimmons + Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for thefitzsimmonsnetwork’s Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week. Day two prompt: adventure. 
> 
> I requested dialogue/sentence prompts to help inspire me for these, and for this one, agent-85 said “I had the flu, Fitz.” Near-ish future, like awhile after Jemma returns from Rockville; established relationship.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

Jemma rolled her eyes at him, fastening her tactical vest tighter around her torso. She pointedly ignored Fitz as she pulled on her gloves.

“What if you’re still suffering ill-effects? You can’t know something won’t go wrong on the mission.”

Finally, she turned to him where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “I had the flu, Fitz. What do you think is going to happen? I’m going to sneeze on the ICER and it’s going to lock up and not work properly?”

He paled slightly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s going to be fine. It’s a basic mission, really, just recon. I’ll be back before you know it.” When the worried look didn’t leave his face, she sighed and stepped closer to him. “You’re going to have to trust me, you know.  _And_ our team. You can’t keep me safe on the base forever.”

He pouted a little, reaching out to grasp her hips and pull her closer. “I want to.”

“I know.” She gave him a fond smile, wrapping her gloved hands around the back of his neck and playing with the short hair there. “But that’s not how this works.”

“I know that.” He looked down at his thumb tracing circles on her hips. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting to build a blanket fort in my bunk and drag you inside of it with me forever. Keep you safe.”

Jemma felt a surge of feeling for him, because wasn’t that what they deserved, after all they’d been through? To be warm and safe and together? But it really didn’t work like that. She brushed a hand across his jaw and rose up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. He returned the kiss ardently, sliding one hand around to the small of her back to hold her close.

After a few lovely moments, she squeezed his shoulder affectionately before pulling away. “It’s going to be fine, Fitz. You’ll be watching the surveillance footage, anyway. You’d know immediately if anything were to go wrong.”

He nodded as she turned to zip up and shoulder her bag. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Jemma chuckled. “I know. And you can tell me that again later tonight. As often as you’d like.” With one last grin in his direction, she headed for the door.

“Hey, Jem.”

She turned around with one hand on the jamb, brows raised.

“A sneeze could  _never_ lock up the ICERs.”

Jemma laughed. “I know. They’re far too advanced for that.”

“Right. But, um. Bring a pack of tissues. Just in case.”

She groaned, shaking her head even as she smiled back at him. “Alright, Fitz. I’ll bring a pack of tissues.”

Fitz nodded with a little wave as she ducked out of the room.  _Honestly, tissues on a mission?_ She laughed to herself, but then wrinkled her nose as she felt a hint of a tickle.  _Better pop into the storage room and grab some. Just in case._  


	22. Fitzsimmons + Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for thefitzsimmonsnetwork’s Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week on Tumblr. Day three prompt: firsts/lasts. 
> 
> I requested dialogue/sentence prompts to help inspire me for these, and for this one, ghostspike said “this is a lyric from she by doddleoddle/dodie clark so idk if that works but) she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall.”

Fitz watched as the amber liquid swirled in his red plastic cup. He’d kept his judgmental comments about American keg beer to a minimum, for Jemma’s sake, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

He took a sip anyway, surveying the room. The party had been winding down for some time, with only a few clumps of their SciOps colleagues and friends left hanging out around the apartment. Fitz wasn’t sure where Jemma was– for that matter, he hadn’t seen her for awhile, though it  _was_  her birthday party, so she’d been pulled in a lot of different directions.

“We’re heading out, Fitz,” Mary Beth called to him from across the room. “Great party!”

“You basically planned it,” he called back. All he’d done was make sure to keep Jemma away from the apartment for long enough for Mary Beth and company to set up, then deliver the birthday girl to her own apartment at the agreed-upon time.

Mary Beth slipped her purse strap over her shoulder with a grin. “Even so. Make sure Jemma gets to bed okay. Last I saw her she was spinning.”

Fitz nodded with a tip of his plastic cup as Mary Beth and her boyfriend exited the apartment. He wondered if he should get up from his spot in the corner armchair to go looking for Jemma, but before he could set down his drink, she whirled around the corner toward him and plopped into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“It’s my birthday, Fitzy!”

He chuckled, shifting in his chair to accommodate her. “I know. That’s the reason we had that amazing cake over there.” He nodded at the sugary remnants on the kitchen counter. Jemma smacked her lips in response and tightened her grip around his neck. She was well and truly drunk, he thought.

“It was a good birthday party, wasn’t it?”

“Mmhmm. Especially for that guy.” Fitz nodded at Peter Richardson, who was passed out on the couch across the room with an anatomically-suspect penis scrawled on his face in black Sharpie. Jemma didn’t look at him, though, focusing her attention entirely on Fitz (which, if he was being honest, made him feel a little fuzzy, too).

“What about you, Fitzy?”

“What about me?”

“Did you have fun? Did you have fun at my paaarty?” She grinned as she dragged out the last word, tilting her head so it rested on the chairback without breaking eye contact with him.

“‘Course. What’s not to like about party food?” Fitz had especially enjoyed the tiny sandwiches and the buffalo chicken dip– and if he’d dipped a sandwich or two _into_ the buffalo chicken dip, who could really blame him?

“And about me?” Jemma pouted, drawing his eyes to her mouth. His lips quirked into a little smile.

“What’s not to like about you?” She grinned in response, one of her hands slipping into the curls at the back of his neck.

“Nothing,” she said, still smiling. He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced around the room– none of the few guests remaining seemed to be paying them any mind. “Fitz?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her.

“Hmm?”

In lieu of an answer, suddenly her lips were on his, soft and warm and there. Fitz’s hands instinctively flew from their resting spot on the chair’s arms to hover near her thigh and her back, but he didn’t quite touch her. His mind was swimming. She tasted of birthday cake and the crisp, cool newness of fall. Just as the fog in his head began to clear, she inched away.

For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes– hers glassy and smiling, his questioning and unsure. After a few more seconds ticked by, Jemma let out a small, contented puff of breath, and let herself relax bonelessly against Fitz’s body.

“Time for bed, I think,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

Fitz craned his neck to peer down at her where she’d nestled her face against his shoulder. “Jem?” he whispered. A soft snuffle was his only response.

“Psst. Fitz,” came a voice from across the room. “See ya later!” The last of the partygoers shuffled to the door, pulling on jackets and waving goodbye. One of them– a guy Fitz only vaguely recognized– nodded at Jemma curled up in his lap and shot him a thumbs up. After a moment, the guests were gone, and they were left alone.

“Jem? Are you asleep?” The only answer was her deep and even breathing. Letting out a breath of his own, Fitz very carefully stretched out his legs and toed off his shoes, letting his head loll back even as his eyes remained open. He settled in for the evening with his best friend asleep in his lap, Peter Richardson passed out on the nearby couch– and the swirling memory of a kiss like a brand he wasn’t sure would soon go away.


	23. Fitzsimmons + “And then the beaker exploded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for thefitzsimmonsnetwork’s Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week. Day four prompt: sasifaction. 
> 
> I requested dialogue/sentence prompts to help inspire me for these, and agentverbivore suggested “And then the beaker exploded.”
> 
> Fits somewhere within [These Inconvenient Fireworks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3106148), aka part II of the [Puzzle Pieces series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/195629), though it can be read alone. Just know that it’s mid-season 2 and Jemma has started to feel hella thirsty for Fitz, but doesn’t know what to do about it.

Jemma Simmons is a qualified, rational scientist.

At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. That there’s no reason for a calm and collected haver-of-two-PhDs such as herself to be acting like newborn foal let loose in a fragile forest.

Nevertheless, the two broken test tubes and one scorched set of notes that currently fill the garbage bin at her feet say otherwise.

It’s just that it’s been so long since she’s shared a lab with Fitz, and now she’s been alone with him for nearly two straight hours. She hadn’t realized when he’d said he was going to the garage that he’d be spending  _quite_ so much time in the lab.

“Coming along alright?” she asks him from her bench. He looks up from his spot a table away, blue eyes shining quite fetchingly through his safety goggles.

“I think so. Just a bit more, uh, tinkering, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Jemma sucks in a sharp breath, and she walks around her workstation to face him. “No!”

He raises his eyebrows, setting down the screwdriver he’s been using to poking around one of the Dwarves. “No?”

She clears her throat. “I mean, no hurry. The lab’s large enough that we can both do it in here.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, do our things.” _Try again._  “Our projects.”

If Fitz notices her misspeak, he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead just nodding and returning his attention to the drone in front of him. She mentally wipes her brow.  _Get a hold of yourself, Jemma._

“I think…” he mutters. “I think I might be able to increase the flight stabilization by at least 30% if I can just…” He uses a pair of delicate prongs to tweak the wires beneath the surface of the machine. Jemma walks backward toward her workstation without taking her eyes off him, nearly knocking a titration system to the ground. She continues to watch him as she resumes her project where she left off.

Glancing quickly down at her work, she measures out an ounce of cerulean liquid to add to the mixture she’s been working on. As she stirs it slowly into the chemicals already in the beaker, her eyes drift back to Fitz– more specifically, to Fitz’s forearms, which are in full view now that he’s rolled up the sleeves of his cardigan. With each twist of the screwdriver or tweak of a wire, she watches vein and muscle move in an impressive anatomical display.

Her eyes drift up, past the soft, grey sleeve of his cardigan, past his bicep and shoulder up to where his collar meets his neck, noting the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. They follow the movement up to his jaw, which clenches and unclenches as he focuses. By the time her gaze lands on his mouth, and the way just a hint of pink tongue peeks out from between his lips in concentration, she realizes she’s drifted slowly toward him and is now standing practically over his shoulder.

“…if I can just… got it!” He turns his head to grin at her, and his eyes widen a bit when he notices how close she’s already standing. She opens her mouth to say something–  _anything_ – but nothing comes out. He holds her gaze, though, almost looking like he wants to say something as well, almost looking like he wants–

And then the beaker explodes.

 _Drat_ , thinks Jemma, rushing back to her workstation to salvage what’s left of her project. Fitz helps her clean up the broken glass, but once they have the mess under control, he murmurs an excuse, packs up his Dwarf, and leaves.

Jemma crumples up her now-useless notes, tossing them in the bin with the broken glass as she slumps onto her stool. This newfound distraction, she thinks, is clearly going to be the death of her. 


	24. Fitzsimmons + “Realization dawned across his face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for thefitzsimmonsnetwork’s Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week on Tumblr. Day five prompt: costumes. 
> 
> I requested dialogue/sentence prompts to help inspire me for these, and derevko suggested “Realization dawned across his face.”
> 
> Future fic. Established relationship.

“Huh. I didn’t order anything from Amazon. Did you?” Fitz leaned down to pick up the box that lay at their apartment doorstep. **  
**

“ _Drat_ ,” Jemma muttered under her breath. She took the cardboard package from him and unlocked the door, rushing into the apartment without a backward glance.

“What is it?” An amused smile played at his lips as he set the rest of their mail on the table by the door. “Present for me?”

“Not exactly,” called Jemma’s voice from the kitchen.

Fitz tapped his finger on his chin, thinking as he shrugged off his cardigan and tossed it over the arm of the living room couch. “Hmm. Something secret, that’s not a present for me.” He crossed to the kitchen and leaned against the door jamb. Jemma had her back turned, clearly trying to open the package without him seeing it. “Is it something, um… something dirty?” He cleared his throat. “Sexy lingerie?”

Jemma snorted, and though he couldn’t see her face, he could sense that her eyes were rolling. “And just how would that  _not_ be a present for you?”

“Fair enough.” Fitz wandered over to the refrigerator, opening the door and pulling out two beers. He cracked them both open and took a sip of his before approaching Jemma with her own. He peered over her shoulder, hoping to get a look at the package or whatever was inside.

“Hold on juuuust a second,” Jemma said. He could hear a rustling, though even on his tiptoes, he couldn’t quite see what she was doing. “Almost… ah! Got it.” She turned around to face him with a grin on her face, and he finally saw it– a tiny white lab coat and a pair of small goggles. “I was going to have it all ready to show you, but…”

_What the…_

His face felt hot, and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not…” he said, gaze flitting between her face and her stomach.

Jemma furrowed her brow. “What? No! Of course not.” She let out a breathy laugh. “We’re far too careful for that.”

Before he had a chance to decide whether or not that was a relief, he frowned. “Then who on Earth is going to wear that tiny coat?”

She held it up in front of her, swaying the small white jacket back and forth. Her expectant grin was back, and she bit her lip. “Arf, arf!” she said playfully.

Realization dawned across his face, and his eyes widened. “You mean…” She nodded excitedly. “We’re getting a dog?” Before waiting for her response, Fitz surged forward and swept her up into a hug, the tiny lab coat–  _doggie_ lab coat– pinned between them.

“One of my lab techs has a golden retriever who’s having puppies, so…”

He squeezed her tightly before pulling back and holding her at arm’s length, looking down at the lab coat. “And this is its Halloween costume?”

“Mmhmm. Well, it won’t quite be big enough by this Halloween, but for next year.”

“Are you kidding me?” Fitz leaned down to press a lingering kiss against Jemma’s lips. “The little monkey’s wearing this every day!”


	25. Fitzsimmons + “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for widowshulk on Tumblr. 
> 
> Fitzsimmons + “The paint’s supposed to go where?”  
> Future fic, established relationship.

“The paint’s supposed to go  _where_?”

“On your face, Fitz. I know you’ve seen the movie.” Jemma dipped her fingers into the small jar of paint, pulling out a dollop and smearing it on Fitz’s cheek as he scowled.

“'Course I’ve seen it. Doesn’t mean I’ve been dying to reenact it.”

Jemma huffed, putting the hand that wasn’t stained with bright blue paint on her hip and cocking her head. “Are we doing this or aren’t we?”

He sighed. “We are, we are.” Fitz closed his eyes, extending his neck just a bit so his face made for an easily accessible canvas. For a moment, they were both silent as Jemma smoothed blue paint over his skin. After a pause, Fitz opened his eyes. “But why  _Braveheart_? It’s not even historically accurate.”

“Is it wrong that I appreciate your Scottishness?” she asked, smoothing out a glob of paint above his right eyebrow. “I thought it might be nice to cast you in a role that invokes your heritage.”

“Nice?” he asked. “Or…” He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side suggestively. “ _Nice_?”

“Oh, Fitz.” She shook her head reproachfully, but he was close enough to see the pink flush that rose on her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but take the opportunity to tease her.

“You think William Wallace is hot, don’t you, Jemma?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I have  _never_  had a thing for Mel Gibson, and you know it.”

“Ah.” He let a breath out through his nose and shut his eyes again, letting her do her work. “My mistake.”

There was a pause, as she smoothed the paint over the side of his jaw. “Although… you as William Wallace? That’s a completely different story.” When he snapped his eyes open, she had a smirk on her face, though her cheeks still glowed pink. “ _That_  I may have a bit of a thing for.” She let her eyes drift down his body– down to the tartan kilt, then up to the leather piece strapped over one shoulder, then finally up to his eyes, a blazing bright blue that matched the color on his face. As she wiped the paint off her fingers with a rag, her smirk turned into a wolfish grin. “That I  _most certainly_  have a thing for.”


	26. Fitzsimmons + “You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go such extremes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for aretsuna on Tumblr.
> 
> Fitzsimmons + 38: “You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go such extremes.”  
> Non-SHIELD AU.

Historically, Jemma Simmons had always been prepared. She’d also always been on time. On this day, she was neither.

A late-in-the-game breakthrough in the lab would have ordinarily left Jemma overjoyed, but was less than convenient when she had to get to the airport and fly to a conference at which she’d be speaking. In the end, she’d prioritized jotting down her findings and was running very, very late to catch her flight.

“This is your final boarding call for flight number 616 to New York,” said a flight attendant over the PA. “Passengers O’Henry, Simmons and Zenkman, this is your final boarding call.”

Jemma raced toward the gate, dodging slow-moving tourists. She pulled the strap of her laptop bag higher on her shoulder and sped up as much as she could manage, after running the entire length of the terminal.

“Again, this is your final–”

“I’m here! I’m here,” said Jemma, thrusting her boarding pass toward the attendant and pushing her hair off her slightly sweaty brow in the meantime. The woman gave her a tight, false smile and gestured toward the gate.

Once on the plane, Jemma’s heart began to slow to a more normal pace and she felt the adrenaline that had thrummed through her veins start to drift away. She shuffled down the aisle, still slightly out of breath, until she approached her assigned seat. As she passed the row just ahead of hers, the teenager in the aisle seat took an enormous bite of the cheeseburger he’d brought on board, and Jemma dimly remembered that she hadn’t eaten since an early dinner the night before.

And that’s when everything went dark.

 

–

Jemma’s head swum, and she could vaguely hear a voice breaking through the darkness. “Hey. Hey, are you alright?” it said. She furrowed her brow, letting out a little groan as she blinked her eyes open. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at and where she was.

She was looking at a man with sparkling blue eyes clouded with concern, likely for her. And she was sitting– reclining, really– right in his lap.

Upon this realization, she sat up straighter in the man’s lap, cheeks heating up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said instinctively. “What happened?”

He let out a breathy little chuckle, like he was relieved she’d woken up. Of course he was, thought Jemma. Who would want a total stranger unconscious in his lap?

“You fainted… straight into my arms,” the man said. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go such extremes.”

Jemma frowned, suddenly aware that the man had one arm around her, supporting her lower back, and rested his other hand on her knee. When he saw her looking at it, he quickly moved it to hover over his armrest.

“Um, I didn’t mean– are you okay? Do you need me to get a flight attendant?” he asked, looking nervous.

“What? Oh, no, I’m alright.” She pushed herself off his lap awkwardly (was there any other way to do so?), shifting into the empty window seat beside him. “This is 22A, isn’t it?”

“I’m 22B, so yeah, should be.” He turned toward her in his seat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She smiled at him, trying to ignore the creeping embarrassment she still felt. “Of course. It doesn’t happen often, but occasionally I faint when I’ve been too busy to eat in…” She hazarded a glance at her watch, then looked back at him sheepishly. “Twenty or so hours.”

“Twenty…” The man’s blue eyes were wide, his mouth open. “That’s just–we’ve got to do something about that.” He nodded resolutely, reaching up to push the call button above their pair of seats.

“Oh, it’s alright, I’m sure they’ll come by with peanuts once we take off.”

He just shook his head, and momentarily, a flight attendant appeared in the aisle, looking less than thrilled to be needed before they’d even given their safety speech. “How can I help you?”

“Can we please get something to eat? Surely you’ve got a sandwich or something stashed away back there.”

The woman frowned. “This is not a meal flight, sir, and we’ll be coming by with light refreshments once we take off.”

He opened his mouth to refute her, but Jemma interrupted, leaning over him to speak to the woman. No sense in getting this total stranger in trouble with the flight crew. “If you could just bring me a few packs of peanuts…. and maybe some pretzels,” she added as her stomach growled. “I’d really appreciate it.” The woman nodded curtly, disappearing down the aisle.

“Thank you for the thought,” she said, settling back into her seat. “I’m really mortified that I fainted on you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He turned toward her, lowering his voice. “The woman across the aisle was showing me pictures of her daughter, Missy, and trying to get me to give her my phone number. I think when you wound up in my lap, she assumed we were together and gave up.”

Jemma craned her neck to look around him, noticing that the older woman in the seat across the aisle was now showing pictures of a young woman to the man in the seat on her other side. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Looks like you lost your chance with Missy.”

“Totally fine.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice that both his eyes and his smile were quite nice. The flight attendant dropped off a handful of packets of snacks, and Jemma pulled one open, popping a few peanuts into her mouth. “Better?” he asked.

“Mmhmm.” She swallowed, pulling open a pack of pretzels. “I’ve just been so busy the last few days, I guess I haven’t been paying much attention to basic biological needs. I’ve got this huge conference I’ve been preparing for–”

“I’m headed to a conference, too. The ASA’s New Futures conference at the Westin?”

Jemma widened her eyes as she swallowed. “Me too! I’m speaking tomorrow morning on the effects of dendrotoxin on the nervous system when combined with various reagents.”

The man let out a laugh, then pulled a pamphlet from the seat pocket in front of him and held it out to her. She skimmed it– a schedule of sessions for the conference– until she reached the description of her session, which he’d circled, underlined and starred in bold blue ink.

“I, ah. I kind of wanted to go to that one,” he said, pulling at his earlobe. She laughed, running her thumb over the blue star. “It’s just before my session on nanorobots.”

Jemma had just popped another pretzel into her mouth, and coughed to avoid choking on it. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, navigating to the Notes app and holding it out to him as she chewed.

“Sessions to attend,” he read. His was the first on her (admittedly long) list. He grinned, and she grinned back. “What’s the plus sign next to the title of mine mean?”

“It denotes sessions in which I’d like to spend some time talking to the presenter afterwards,” she admitted, looking down into her bag of pretzels.

His hand appeared in her field of vision, and she looked up to see a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Leo Fitz.” She smiled in return, setting down her pretzels and grasping his hand.

“Jemma Simmons.”

As the plane took off, and the pair chatted animatedly about their work and so much else, Jemma felt incredibly thankful that she’d managed to make it to her flight on time.


	27. Fitzsimmons + kittens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For drunkenavocados on Tumblr, who suggested fluff + Fitzsimmons + kittens.  
> Established relationship. Non-SHIELD AU or future AU; take your pick.

“What about that one?”

“Nope.”

“Aww, or that one?”

“Definitely not.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, turning on her heels in the aisle to face him. “Oh,  _honestly_ , Fitz, you know you’re not actually going to get what you  _really_  want.”

He huffed, picking at a bit of lint on the sleeve of his button-down. “I get it, okay? No monkeys. Obviously. ‘M not crazy.”

She nodded once, turning back to the row of cages in front of them. Instantly, her exasperated expression turned into one of sheer joy as she cooed at the pile of tiny kittens napping in the front corner of one cage. She moved closer to it, poking a finger through to gently stroke the back of a grey kitten.

“What I don’t understand, though–” said Fitz behind her, and she sighed.

“Not this again.”

“–is why our apartment complex won’t let us have  _dogs_?”

Jemma moved on to the next cage, pulling it open like the Humane Society staff member had said they could, and picking up an all-white kitten that was fluffier than it had any right to be. She grinned as she cradled the animal to her chest and turned to face Fitz. His grumpy expression faltered, just a little, at the sight.

“Dr. Fitzy,” she said, drawing out the words. He crossed his arms.

“You only call me that when you want something.”

She smiled smugly. “Yes, you’re right. And I want this one.”

Fitz’s eyes flicked down to the cat, then back to Jemma’s pleading face, then back to the cat. He uncrossed his arms, and his hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to pet it, so Jemma shuffled closer toward him until they stood toe to toe, the kitten between them.

“Dr. Fitzy…”

He made a groaning sound in the back of his throat. “You know I can’t say no to that, Jem.”

“I do know that,” she said softly, tipping her head up to kiss him on his jawline. He leaned into her, reaching out to slide one hand along her hip to keep her close. “This is our kitten, I think.”

“Jemma…” he whined, voice low.

“We can even name her after a famous physicist instead of a biochemist…” she whispered, lips just brushing his earlobe. The kitten purred in her arms, warm and snug between their chests.

Fitz let out a long groan, then his arms fell to his sides and he let his forehead drop to Jemma’s shoulder. “Fine. You win.” He reached out and gently took the kitten from her, holding it up so he could look into its blue eyes. “You’re coming home with us, Mildred Dresselhaus. Yes, you are,” he said, his voice taking on a slight baby-talk tone at the end.

Jemma bit her lip to hide her grin as she followed Fitz to the front desk, slipping her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. She, Fitz, and tiny little Mildred were going to be very happy together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to note that there really is a Mildred Dresselhaus, and she's a professor of physics and electrical engineering at MIT (and 'the queen of carbon science'). I only know all that because I Googled 'famous female physicists' of course.


	28. Fitzsimmons + 3x05 promo photo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr; in response to the promo for 3x05, when we first glimpsed the glorious photo of Fitz that Jemma has on her phone. The story of how that photo came to be.

She’d been watching him on and off all morning.

Out of the corner of her eye as she uploaded a fresh batch of data to her computer, or with a little smile on her face as she noticed him drumming his fingers on the top of his desk.

In the less-than-24-hour period since he’d returned from the Iliad, there had been a noticeable shift in the air that stretched between them. They hadn’t yet spoken about what she’d said in the locker room before he’d left, but Jemma felt confident that they would, eventually. There were simply more pressing matters to attend to for the time being, like the mysterious monolith looming in a spare storage room.

Still, something was different between them, and Jemma almost felt like she couldn’t quite catch her breath when he brushed by her lab bench or passed her a folder.

She glanced up from her work again to find him sitting at his desk, a thick book open in front of him. He’d tipped his chair back a fraction, his brow furrowed as he concentrated.

Jemma took him in for a moment. She observed the familiar crease between his eyebrows and the way he bit the corner of his lip every now and then. She had watched him focus more times than she could count– on assignments at the Academy, on particularly challenging projects in the lab, on her– but something about the sight rendered her unable to look away this time.

As he bit his lip again, she slipped her phone out of her back pocket and shifted out from behind her lab table. She crept toward him, hoping to snap a quick picture before his concentration could be broken. She knew him well enough to know how he’d react if he noticed her photographing him– a cross frown, a glare, or even a hand over his face. He’d never seen the value in selfies and candids like she did.

A few feet away from his desk, she held the phone aloft and tapped to open her Camera app– and then he turned his head to look at her, and the jig was up.

Jemma shrugged, a ‘who, me?’ look on her face. He stared at her for a moment, and she was just about to tuck her phone back into her pocket when his lips quirked into a slow, small smile, as he watched her with the same intensity with which she’d been watching him moments earlier.

She held up the phone again, grinning as she heard the shutter sound. He chuckled, shaking his head and returning to his research. She waited until she was back at her lab table before opening the photo.

 _Not bad_ , she thought. Perhaps his point of view on candids was changing. Her gaze slid over to him where he sat, now absorbed in his book once again, and a smile played at her lips. Maybe she could even get him to say cheese next time.

She’d try again tomorrow.


	29. Fitzsimmons + 3-sentence fics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reblogged a three-sentence-fic meme awhile back on Tumblr, and actually tried to keep most of my fics short for once. Since they're all so bite-sized, I figured it would be best to compile all of those into one chapter here.

> For agentverbivore, who asked for Fitzsimmons + zookeepers AU:

“I hope you’re planning on stopping home to shower before tonight,” groused Fitz with a pained grimace as he watched Jemma, who was currently up to her elbows in a pregnant giraffe. It was almost enough to make him regret finally ( _finally_ ) getting up the courage to ask her out on a date that morning, over their usual cups of tea in the staff lounge that overlooked the monkey house.

 _Almost_ , he thought, as she pulled out one arm with a sickening squelch and waved at him, the beaming smile on her face making his heart stutter and swell– _but not quite_.

 

* * *

    

> For somefitzsimmonsfan, who asked for Fitzsimmons + Blind Date AU:

“Look,” said Fitz, leaning further over the slightly sticky coffee shop table and reaching out a hand almost-but-not-quite close enough to graze her own fingers, “I know Rick and Sheila only set us up because we’re the only two PhDs they know, and because they hardly ever understand what either one of us is going on about, so they figured they’d pawn us off on each other, and you probably have better things to do, but–” **  
**

“I think we should go out again,” Jemma interrupted, adding, “Preferably as soon as possible.”

“Alright then,” he said, swallowing thickly with a nod,  all the while thinking about how he owed Rick and Sheila the most expensive bottle of Scotch the tri-city area had to offer.

 

* * *

    

> For respekt-the-bovril, who asked for Fitzsimmons + bakery at Christmastime:

"You’ve been in here every day this week,” Fitz said as he handed Jemma a red-and-green iced sugar cookie across the counter, adding, “This one’s on the house.”

Jemma’s grin wrinkled her nose in the way he’d come to adore ( _had it really only been a week since she’d first walked into his bakeshop and stolen his breath with her smile?_ ) and she took the cookie, slipping a folded scrap of paper into his hand in return.

“For when you get off work?” she said with a wink, and as he gazed down at the ten-digit phone number in his hand, he’d never been so grateful to work in the service industry during Christmastime.

 

* * *

    

> For an anon who asked for Fitzsimmons + awkward house party:

 “Maybe use a coaster next time,” Fitz muttered just quietly enough for the couple on the loveseat not to hear him as he slid a leather square under each of their drinks, lamenting the fact that he’d not just cleared out when his roommates had thrown their big end-of-senior-year bash. **  
**

“Fitz,” came a voice from behind him, a distinctly British one that made his whole body stiffen as it continued, “I was hoping you’d be here.”

After a moment, he turned to face his (now former) classmate, a comment like “I live here; why wouldn’t I be here?” on the tip of his tongue, but it died on his lips when he noticed how close Simmons was standing– and how predatory the look in her eyes was.

As she stepped fully into his space and slid a hand along his jaw, wordlessly asking permission before angling up to press her mouth against his, all thoughts of condensation rings flew out of his mind entirely.

 

* * *

   

> For omgfitzsimmons, who asked for Fitzsimmons + just finished a really bad week:

 Jemma staggered into their bunk, flipping the light switch off even as she stripped off her clothes, item by item, and let them all pile on the floor.

“Hey!” cried Fitz from his spot on the bed where he’d been reading a science journal; his voice grew muffled when Jemma’s bra flew across the room to land on his head.

She crawled into bed beside him wearing only her underwear (though she felt far too exhausted to flaunt that fact), nudging her face into the crook of his neck, and when his hand came up to stroke through her hair, she leaned into it, finally mumbling, “Next time Daisy goes through a break up, _you’re_ on call.”

 

* * *

  

> For fitzsimmonsinthetardis, who asked for Fitzsimmons + masquerade ball:

Fiddling with her comms earpiece and surveying the ballroom, Jemma adjusted her glittering mask, then the strap of her dress, the deep blue one that Bobbi had sworn would spur Fitz into action, no matter how much tension lay between them.

“The perimeter is clear… according to Dopey,” Fitz said, staring at his phone through his own mask as he approached her, until he finally looked up, blue eyes locking on hers even through the eyeholes of his mask as if he couldn’t let himself look anywhere else.

“Daisy?” he asked, licking his lips with his gaze still on her, and continuing, “I’m hoping the DWARFs can handle it from here, ‘cause I was really hoping maybe I could have a dance with Jemma, and I’m afraid she’s not going to like it if I’m talking to you the whole time.”

 

* * *

  

> For honeylavendertea, who asked for Fitzsimmons + stuck in a thunderstorm:

 “Well it’s certainly not _my_ fault,” she spat out, pulling her thin jacket tighter around her as they stood huddled beneath the awning of the SciTech research building. **  
**

“Oh, and it’s mine, I suppose?” Fitz said, eyebrows raising high and indignant on his forehead, adding, “You were the one who insisted we stay until all your PCR results were back, and who didn’t realize that would be well after midnight and therefore well after the alleged ‘storm of the century’ began.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, slipping her right arm around Fitz’s waist (ignoring the tiny noise of protest he made) and flicking open her umbrella to protect them both from the driving rain. “Doesn’t matter, Fitz, just let’s go home,” she said, huddling closer to him than she’d ever been before, her cheek pressed against his collarbone, in an effort to avoid the unavoidable wetness.

In the end, as they entered their shared apartment, she was drenched from head to toe, but had a new understanding of Leo Fitz’s very particular, and not at all unpleasant, scent.

 

* * *

  

> For derevko, who asked for Fitzsimmons at the dawn of America:

“Be sure to speak up,” she said as she straightened his waistcoat, even as he tried to bat her hands away. “You’re young, but you’re smart. Don’t let them underestimate you.” **  
**

“I know, Jemma.”

“And be sure to go over the finer details of your plan–”

“–our plan–”

She relented. “ _Our_ plan– before the convention starts,” she continued, smoothing out his sleeves. “It’s so complex. They may not follow along.”

“They _will_. I’ll make sure of it.”

She pinned him with a look. “Acknowledge that few men are as intelligent as you are.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And even fewer are as intelligent as you. You should be the one in attendance.”

Jemma looked down for a moment, then met his eyes again with a smile. “May that one day be a possibility.” She secured one of the buttons on his coat more tightly. “For now, I’m thankful to know that at least one junior delegate at our Constitutional Convention will have not simply his own best interest at heart but mine as well.”

Fitz took a deep breath and reached out to stroke Jemma’s hair. With a glance around the sitting room of their boarding house in which they stood, to reserve their propriety, he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Hey,” he whispered, mouth just inches from hers. “Best of wives and best of women.”

She gave him a wry smile, then pushed him out the door. “Don’t come back until our nation’s future is secure,” she called out, then sighed as she watched him go. Her trust in her Fitz was indefatigable, and she knew he’d succeed. Her trust in the other men who made up the leaders of her new nation, however?

Well, she believed in Fitz. She hoped that would be enough.

 

* * *

   

> For imnotacoptodayhoney, who asked for Fitzsimmons + pregnancy cravings:

“Cheeseburgers with extra pickles, and ooh, something with banana mixed with peanut butter, and weirdly, strawberry ice cream, but only if it’s the kind made with real strawberries that has chunks in it, because if it’s too smooth then it’s not the same.”

Jemma watched him, his eyes glazed over with thoughts of food, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Fitz, I’m about a hundred months pregnant and am still working in the lab most of the day, so I’m too exhausted to move, let alone help you sort out your cravings.” He grimaced, nodding. “Can’t we just order a pizza and lie in bed while we eat it?”

“Jemma,” he said with a grin, standing from the couch and reaching out a hand to help her up. “That is actually precisely what I’m craving most in this world.”

 

* * *

 

> For an anon who asked for Fitzsimmons + just began their relationship and going on a double date with Hunter and Bobbi:

“Still wondering if the ride’s worth it?” Bobbi asked quietly with a smirk and a pointed glance at where Jemma’s hand disappeared beneath the table to rest on Fitz’s knee. **  
**

A pleased little smile grew on Jemma’s face as her gaze slid from the knowing look on Bobbi’s face, to Fitz (who was engaged in a heated discussion with Hunter about the football match playing on the bar’s TV), and back. “No. It’s definitely worth it.”


	30. "Fitzsimmons + finding out they are expecting twins."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr requested "Fitzsimmons + finding out they are expecting twins."

“There’s the heartbeat,” said Dr. Velasquez, her voice soft as she concentrated on the ultrasound. Jemma felt like her own heart swelled in her chest as she watched the mishmash of blurry motion on the monitor, clutching Fitz’s hand tighter in her own. He leaned down to kiss her on her temple before resting his forehead against her hair for a moment to collect himself. Suddenly this felt more _real_ to her than it ever had since they’d found out.

“Wait a second…” the doctor began. She furrowed her brow for just a moment before breaking out into a knowing smile. “That’s what I thought. Do you hear that?”

Jemma listened intently to the lub-dub of the baby’s heart. “Yes?”

“Do you hear them both? It’s _two_ heartbeats.”

Fitz sucked in a breath beside her, and Jemma turned her head to meet his awed gaze with one of her own. “Fitz,” she said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered, letting go of her hand only long enough to wrap his arm tightly around her shoulders and pull her closer to his chest.

“Of course I am, Fitz, but it’s very unlikely that we’re having a baby Time Lord.”

He chuckled against her hair, chest rumbling with the sound, and she felt warm and safe and loved. She snuggled further into his arms, eyes drawn to the monitor again– to _both_ of their babies– and hummed contentedly. “Maybe a pair of companions, though.”

 

\---

 

> agentverbivore followed up with: "omg FitzSimmons with twins though. just picture Fitz lying sprawled out on the floor in the middle of their cottage in Perthshire, eyes closed as two little munchkins run around and over him. Jemma walking in and sighing heavily. "got the better of you again, did they?""

 

“Jemma, we brought a pair of heathens into this world,” he said, bringing up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose as little Peggy– or was that Marie? It was so hard to tell at this age– gnawed at his elbow. “We must be cursed.”

She set her laptop on the side table with a fond eyeroll at what had now become a running joke between them, before plopping down on the carpet beside him and pulling Marie (it was _definitely_ Marie, she thought. Probably.) into her lap. She pressed her cheek against the top of Marie’s soft head and murmured, “Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve handled worse.”


	31. Fitzsimmons + Road trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tumblr anon asked for "(don't know if you're still doing the three sentence fic) Fitzsimmons + Road trip possibly?"
> 
> Near future, after our team deals with Ward/Hydra/Will/the portal/etc.

“You’re sure about this.” His thumbs stroked the steering wheel of the SUV, and she nodded. “Even though Coulson said we couldn’t have the time off.” **  
**

“Yes, Fitz, I’m sure.”

He stared at her for a moment before easing the SUV out of the Playground’s darkened garage. Fitz overrode the security perimeter with a few swift taps on his phone, and then they were free.

They drove in silence for several minutes. Fitz stole a glance at Jemma every few seconds, his eyes drawn to her face and to the way her hands clenched into loose fists in her lap. When they slowed at a stoplight a few miles from the base, he caught her eye, and she let out a long, slow breath.

“I’m sure. After everything that happened, I just… need to get away. For just a little while.” She lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap, and he reached over to cover one of them with his own. One corner of her mouth quirked up. “With you.”

Fitz squeezed her hand, pulling it up so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. He nodded. “SHIELD can wait.”

She let her head fall back against the headrest and gazed at him with a slow, fond smile. A smile full of hope. “SHIELD can wait.”


	32. Fitzsimmons + waking up in bed after their first time together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: "If you doing the prompt thing still- Fitzsimmons waking up in bed after their first time together."

By the time Fitz snuffled himself awake, Jemma had been up and watching him for at least twenty minutes. His bleary eyes took a few moments to focus on her, and when he did, he couldn’t help the grin that split his face in two.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked. He scooted closer to her, reaching up a hand to stroke her hair, and she turned her head far enough for her to kiss the base of his palm.

“Quite well, thank you. You?”

“Never better.”

Jemma snorted a laugh, turning onto her back and pulling his arm across her waist. “What about the time you accidentally slept through quantum lab because you didn’t listen to me when I told you not to take an extra dose of cough medicine?”

“Mm, better than that.”

“Better than the time we stayed up for 48 hours straight working on our final project for Weaver and then you made a nest of blankets on our living room floor for us to take what ended up being a nine-hour nap?”

“Much.”

“Better even than the night I convinced you to be my test subject for the latest round of dendrotoxin and you were out cold for a whole day?”

“Even better than the lost dendrotoxin day of 2011.”

“Wow.” She turned back on her side, the tip of her nose just brushing against his. “Sounds like you did sleep well.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Also sounds like we’re going to have to attempt to duplicate those results again tonight.”

He nodded eagerly. “All variables unchanged?”

She bit her lip to fight a grin, tilting her chin up, and whispered against his lips, “It’s only practical.”


	33. Fitzsimmons + New Year's kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leiastars on Tumblr requested "Prompt for fun! Fitzsimmons + New Year's kisses!"
> 
> Future fic–- can be read as a follow-up to [Let This Moment Be The First Chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5609113), my current-canon (i.e. takes place during the season 3 midseason break) New Year’s one-shot, or alone.

“Fitz, do be careful.” **  
**

“I’m not going to be careful, Jemma,” he groused, fishing the matches out of his pants pocket. “I’m going to get the job done.” He didn’t have to look back at her to know that she was rolling her eyes.

“Do you need my help?”

That did make him turn around, an incredulous look gracing his face. “Jemma, I think I can handle setting off the cheap fireworks we were able to pick up at the market by myself. I do have a PhD, you know.”

She took a sip from her travel mug of tea to hide her smile. “Not in firework safety, you don’t.” She chuckled at the aggrieved expression on his face and tugged one of the fleece blankets they’d brought out into their vast backyard tighter around her in an attempt to keep out the chill inherent to Scottish winters. “In any case, it’s a good thing we don’t have many neighbors out here. Those things are small but quite loud.”

He hummed his agreement as he went back to the task at hand, setting up a line of miniature fireworks to be lit.

“Time check?”

She pushed up the sleeve of her jumper to glance at her watch. “11:57.”

He nodded. “Right then. We’re ready to go.”

“Come over here, then.”

He frowned at her. “But don’t you want me to set them off at midnight? We don’t want to miss it.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow at him and set her tea down on the grass beside her lawn chair. “I’d rather you kissed me at midnight.”

Fitz surveyed the fireworks on the ground for a moment, then tossed the book of matches down beside them and rushed over to take his seat in the chair next to her. “Right.” He reached over to slide a hand along her jaw and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers, soft and sure.

“It’s only 11:59,” she mumbled into the kiss.

“Don’t care,” he replied, tilting his head to keep her close.

It was a full twenty minutes into the new year before the fireworks were set off, but Fitz decided it was well worth the wait.


	34. FitzSimmons + karaoke/rap battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lettertoelise on Tumblr asked for: FitzSimmons + karaoke/rap battles. AU.

Karaoke Melody was _her_ spot, thought Jemma as she slurped the remnants of her daiquiri through its straw. Who did he think he was, showing up at the dive bar that so few people in the neighborhood seemed to know about and hogging the mic like that? **  
**

“Who does he think he is?” asked Daisy from the barstool beside her. Jemma didn’t take her eyes off the curly-haired man standing on the stage, but nodded fervently.

“I know!”

“This is _our_ spot,” said Daisy, signaling another round of daiquiris from their favorite bartender, Trip. “And make ‘em a little stronger this time. If you know what I mean.”

“The whole world knows what you mean, Daisy.” Jemma sighed as the man on stage wrapped up his fifth song of the night and sat back down at a table with two other men. There were very few other people in the bar, but somehow the man’s name ( _Fitz_ , apparently, and what kind of name was that, anyway?) had been called over and over at the exclusion of Jemma, Daisy, and the other regulars.

“Next up, we’ve got the vocal stylings of…” the karaoke host began. Jemma and Daisy both perked up, listening for their names. “Lance, singing ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’!”

The women slumped back onto the bar, taking the daiquiris Trip offered gratefully.

“If I don’t get to sing any Destiny’s Child tonight, I’m never coming back here again,” Daisy threatened Trip, who just laughed and shook his head. He knew it was an empty threat. “Ugh.”

“Can I get a whiskey soda, please, and three tequila shots?” said a voice beside Jemma. She turned, still sipping on her frozen drink, and her eyes widened when she saw who it was– _Fitz_.

“You!”

He swiveled in place to look at her, brow furrowed. “Me?”

“You and your friends have had the stage to yourself all night! It’s impolite,” said Jemma in her haughtiest voice. “And _rude_.”

Fitz (who she had to admit, looked much more attractive up close than he had under the harsh stage lights) just stood there like a startled deer. “Sorry?”

“You should be.” Jemma took a long slurp of her daiquiri as if to punctuate her point. Fitz stared at her for another long moment, broken out of his reverie only by Trip sliding his drinks across the bar. Finally, he sighed.

“‘s not my fault. I mean, it is, but– I lost a bet. To my friends Hunter– he’s the one on stage now, fillin’ in while I buy a round– and Mack. The loser had to sing karaoke all night.” He grimaced. “In public.”

“Well,” began Jemma, sitting up straighter in her seat. “What was the bet on?”

Fitz frowned as he signed his credit card receipt. “Whether more people in the bar we were at earlier could recite all the elements of the Periodic Table, or all the lyrics to ‘Don’t Stop Believing’.”

Jemma laughed. “That’s easy! It’s _obviously_ the–”

“–the Periodic Table, I know,” he finished. “You’d think.”

She gasped. “ _Journey_ won out?”

He nodded slowly. “By a landslide. Now I’m stuck singing all night. They’ve got me down on the list for at least the next fifteen or twenty songs.”

That’s when Jemma remembered that she didn’t particularly like this man, who seemed to be the sole reason that she and Daisy weren’t currently singing one of their favorite karaoke jams. She turned back to face the bar, sipping her drink. “Pity.”

Fitz stood for a moment, looking back and forth between Jemma and his friends. Hunter seemed to be wrapping up his Clash song, and Jemma assumed Fitz would be up next.

“You wouldn’t maybe want to…sing a duet with me, would you?”

She turned in her seat to face him again, noticing the earnestness in his blue eyes. “What?”

“I mean, I’m obligated to sing all night, but… they didn’t say anything about who could and couldn’t sing with me.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up a little, and she found herself considering it. She looked over her shoulder at Daisy, only to see that she was leaning forward on the bar, deep in conversation with Trip. Jemma turned back to Fitz (which, when she thought about it, wasn’t a terrible name, was it? It was unique. Kind of cute, even) and bit her lip.

“Okay. But whatever song you’ve picked to do next, I’m singing all the good parts.” She slid off her barstool and headed for the stage, drink still in her hand.

“By all means,” Fitz said behind her, and she grinned.

Out of the countless nights she and Daisy had spent at this karaoke bar, this one was shaping up to be among the most interesting.


	35. Fitzsimmons + School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @theclaravoyant on Tumblr asked for "Fitzsimmons + School AU"

“The fact is, the biology department has been in dire need of new resources for the entire time that my Marie has been at this school,” said Jemma, crossing her arms as she stood up from her molded plastic chair to address the PTA budget committee. She opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a snort from several feet behind her. **  
**

“Please. We’ve had this argument before. There’s no way that bio is getting additional funding until the physics department gets a complete overhaul,” said the voice, familiar now after three years at Thistle Academy. “The stories Isaac comes home from school with…I shudder to think that such shoddy equipment is really acceptable in this school district.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “The needs of one department can’t be based on the needs of another, Mr. Fitz.”

“I should think they can!” he said indignantly, and she finally turned around to face him. As the first PTA meeting of the school year devolved into another shouting match across three rows of cafeteria chairs, Jemma felt herself sinking into a comfortable routine. Mr. Fitz had a fire in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that made her suddenly think that she’d missed this over the summer.

She ignored it, of course, choosing instead to amp up her argument. She didn’t notice the tired glares from the other parents in the room, instead focusing her full attention on the parent who infuriated her the most.

A slow smile graced her face as he worked himself up over misallocated grant funds. It was going to be a good school year.


	36. FitzSimmons + escalators going opposite directions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recoveringrabbit on Tumblr requested "FitzSimmons, escalators going opposite directions."

Fitz adjusted the shopping bags hanging from the crook of his elbow, cursing the fact that he’d waited too long to Christmas shop to simply order everything online. The mall at Christmas was madness. **  
**

With a sigh, he headed for the escalator– just one more store to visit and he’d be finished for the year.

As he stepped onto the first stair of the crowded apparatus, he spotted her. Jemma Simmons– the smartest person in his graduate school cohort (who he had been harboring a secret crush on since orientation). She had just stepped onto the opposite escalator, and was on her way down as he made his way up. He wasn’t sure whether to turn away and hide or to wave to get her attention– both ideas could end in his own potent humiliation.

Instead, the choice was taken out of his hands.

“Fitz!” Her eyes lit up as she called to him, still several feet above him. He smiled by way of greeting, and was rewarded with one of her own, blinding and beautiful as ever.

“Hi, Simmons,” he said as they moved closer to each other.

“Enjoying your shopping?”

He chuckled. “That’s not the word I’d use.” They were nearing the point where their paths would converge.

“Oh– well, have you got much left to do?”

“Just a bit, now. And you?”

His escalator moved up as hers moved down, and finally, for a brief moment, they were eye to eye. She took a breath and smiled, shuffling around so she could face him as her escalator continued to take her downstairs. He turned in place, too, unable to help himself.

“A bit more as well,” she said, getting farther away. “You know, It might be nice if–”

The large man standing on the escalator behind her shifted in his spot, blocking her from Fitz’s view and obscuring the rest of her sentence.

“What might be nice?” he called to her, craning his neck to get a better look. Just then, his escalator deposited him onto the solid tile of the second floor, making him stumble backwards and catch himself on a large potted plant. _What might be nice?_ He had to know how she’d planned to finish that sentence.

In an instant, he made his decision. Adjusting his bags again, he rushed into the queue for the “down” escalator. He just hoped he’d be able to catch up with her.

“C’mon, move it,” he muttered to himself as the crowd siphoned onto the narrow steps. His fingers tapped impatiently on the black rubber handrail, and he leaned slightly over the side of the escalator to look for the top of her head. _Nothing._ Of course. She’d probably hurried off to her next destination. He’d be lucky if he saw her again at all before Christmas break.

Resigned, he turned back to face forward as the escalator reached its halfway point, and just then, an incredulous laugh from the “Up” escalator caught his attention.

It was her, eye to eye with him for the barest of moments once again before she was headed up and he was headed down. He turned on his metal stair to watch her rise.

“Stay downstairs,” she called out from above. “I thought perhaps we could shop together?”

He nodded, mouth hanging slightly open, feeling supremely lucky that their paths had crossed not once but twice. As he waited next to another giant potted plant for her to come back down, he wondered if he’d been wrong about the mall at Christmas all this time.


	37. FitzSimmons + actually psychically linked AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lucie-is-a-cookie-monster on tumblr requested: "FitzSimmons + actually psychically linked AU ? :D"

Fitz froze in the doorway of the Academy’s vast and well-equipped chemistry lab. He’d overslept– again– and was therefore the last one to arrive, and _of course_ , the only empty seat was the one beside _her_.

“Mr. Fitz,” said Professor Medlin in a droll voice. “Nice of you to join us. As I just went over with the rest of the class, we’re pairing up for the remainder of the semester. You’re with Ms. Simmons, over here.”

 _Shite_. Fitz nodded, swallowed, and stepped closer to her lab bench, where she sat, studiously avoiding his eyes. He took a seat, placing his books gingerly on the table in front of him.

 _C’mon, Fitz, c’mon_ , he thought to himself frantically. _You’ve gotta think of something clever to say to her. You have to think of something. Now._

She cleared her throat beside him, and suddenly a distinctly feminine voice filled his head– even though she hadn’t opened her mouth to speak.

_You really don’t, actually._

His eyes widened, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that she was biting her lip, still not speaking aloud.

_I know you’re brilliant, Fitz. I’m actually quite looking forward to our partnership._

Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head to look at her. She gave him a weak smile, shrugging, as if this sort of thing happened to her every day.

As much as he wished he could say– or think– something supremely intelligent just then, his head was filled with only one thought, echoing over and over as he stared at her:

_What. The. Hell._


	38. Fitzsimmons + "that is one hell of a mess"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eclecticmuses on Tumblr requested Fitzsimmons, "that is one hell of a mess"
> 
> Post-S2 if Jemma never got sucked up by the monolith.

“Whoa…” muttered Fitz as he pushed the door to Jemma’s bedroom open. “That is one hell of a mess.” Clothes were strewn everywhere, and he could barely see Jemma, crouched as she was on the floor of her closet. She peeked at him around the closet door with a grimace.

“Is it seven already?” 

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Fitz.” She turned back to the task at hand– whatever that was– and leaned further into the closet. “I just need a few more minutes,” she said, voice muffled.

Fitz shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So… should I come back… later?”

“No, no, I swear! Just a bit… more… a-ha!” When she finally emerged from the closet, she clutched a sunshine yellow cardigan in her hand, a triumphant look on her face. She stood, and he got a chance to fully take in her appearance. His eyes drifted down to the neckline of her navy dress– _she’d worn a dress–_  lingering on the way the garment skimmed her hips and how the hem swished just above the knee. She pulled on the cardigan and he dragged his gaze back to her face. 

His mouth felt a bit dry, and he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“Ready?” she asked.

“Um.”

“I’m a bit peckish, so I bet you’re starving. Should we order an appetizer?” She headed for the door, still yammering on, her voice a bit higher than was natural. “Perhaps not, if there’s bread. Will there be bread, do you suppose?”

“Jemma, what–” He took a quick look around the room, which most closely resembled the small towns he’d seen on the news after they’d been ill-prepared for a tropical storm. “What happened?”

She stopped just as she reached the doorway, and took a moment before turning around to face him. Then finally, she did, brows knitting together. 

“I–” She took in a quick breath. “Do you recognize this?” She plucked at the fabric of her yellow sweater sleeve, as if an invisible spot of lint required her attention.

“Um. Should I?”

Jemma looked down with a soft smile. “Probably not. I’m sure that day didn’t hold as much significance for you at the time as it did for me.”

Fitz was flummoxed. “What day?”

She met his eyes once again. “The day that we met.” 

He raised his eyebrows involuntarily. “Come again?”

“I was wearing this cardigan the day we met. At the Academy.” She shrugged. “Don’t know quite why I kept it for so long; it’s a bit ragged. Still, I just thought… maybe it was fitting… if I wore it tonight.” She rubbed her thumbs idly against her forefingers as she stood in front of him, waiting for him to respond. “Perhaps that was silly, though.”

“Jemma,” he said, taking two tentative steps toward her. His hands anxiously itched to reach for her. “I, um.”

“Yes?”

“I think maybe that’s my favorite piece of clothing you’ve ever worn.” 

After a beat, she broke into a smile that somehow simultaneously quelled and heightened his nerves. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You, um. Look.” He swallowed, brow furrowed, and nodded rapidly. “Nice.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Shall we go? We don’t want to miss our reservation.” 

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.”

She turned back to the door, and he followed. As she shut it behind them and they began to walk side by side down the hallway toward something that felt big, bigger than he ever could have expected, she spoke again.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“You look nice, too.” 

His smile didn’t fade until well after dessert.


	39. Fitzsimmons + "I'll never unsee that"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reymanova on Tumblr asked for Fitzsimmons + "I'll never unsee that" 
> 
> Near future, current canon (as of Feb/March of s3, roughly when it was posted).

Fitz swiftly shut the door to the kitchen, eyes wide and glassy. “I’ll never unsee that.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” said Jemma, following him as he began to walk back down the hall toward the lab where they’d come from. They’d been planning on a tea break, but the– _activities–_ that Daisy and Lincoln appeared to be getting up to against the counter where the kettle was stored had mucked up that plan. “They just have a lot of passion for each other, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but…” He shuddered as they entered the lab. “The kitchen is a _public space_.” He took a few steps toward the center of the room, aimless with their plans for tea ruined. 

Jemma gave him a look, leaning back against her lab bench. “There was no one _in_ the kitchen, until we walked in.”

“But anyone _could have_ walked in.” He stepped closer to her.

Jemma scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. By that logic, anywhere that isn’t a locked vault or a sealed bunker is off limits!”

Fitz huffed. Why was this turning into an argument? “All I’m saying is, there are better places to get up to things like that.”

“Oh, like where, exactly? In the middle of the lab?” she shot back, and he stopped short. He realized all at once how close they were standing ( _very, very close indeed_ ), and how his breathing had sped up as their silly argument escalated, and most critically, how similar the situation was to the incident in particular that he simultaneously wanted to scrub from his brain and replay in his mind forever.

He sucked in a breath.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

He shuffled an inch, then two inches closer.

She tilted her chin incrementally upward.

“Hey, guys?” came Daisy’s voice at the lab’s entrance. They both wrenched their gazes from each other to glare at the intruder at the door. A bevy of old Scottish curses echoed in Fitz’s mind. 

“What?” he said through clenched teeth.

Daisy cracked her neck, running a relaxed hand through her hair. “Just came to see if you got Coulson’s memo. We’re due in the briefing room in 15.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” murmured Jemma, and Fitz hoped he wasn’t imagining the note of disappointment in her voice.

“He said it won’t be a long meeting. Should just be a quickie.” As she turned to head back down the hall, Daisy looked between Fitz and Jemma with one eyebrow raised. “Seriously, though, guys. The tension in here right now? Is thick.” She chuckled. “Get a room already.” 

Two and a half weeks later, when Jemma huskily voiced her concern about the lack of sound-proofing of her bunk into Fitz’s ear, he just grinned. Daisy’s bunk was right next door, and turnabout was fair play.


	40. Huntingbird + "Wait - is this your way of telling me you want to have a baby?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For happilyshanghaied on Tumblr: Huntingbird + "Wait - is this your way of telling me you want to have a baby?"

“Baby carrots… baby spinach… Bob, did you get anything that _isn’t_ grown in the ground?” 

Bobbi rolled her eyes at him from the kitchen counter, where she unloaded the last of her grocery bags. “Fitz is coming in from the garage with more bags. I’m sure all of the junk ended up in his.” 

Hunter let out a breath of relief, shutting the fridge and leaning back against it. He popped the cap off a beer, which made Bobbi quirk an eyebrow at him.

“A bit early, isn’t it?”

“It’s afternoon!” Hunter took a swig, then gestured behind him with one thumb. “Want me to grab you one, too?”

“That would be a negative.” 

He hummed, sipping his beer. Slowly, his expression became more and more stricken. 

“Wait a tick.”

“What is it?”

“Baby carrots.”

“Yes.”

“Baby spinach.”

“Okay…”

“Turning down beer…”

She sighed. “And?”

“Is this your way of telling me you want to have a baby?”

Bobbi stared at him for a beat, then two beats, before bursting out laughing. She covered her mouth, trying to contain herself as he glared. 

“Is that really so ridiculous?” he asked, scowling.

“No, no, it’s just– you really think I’d ask you to inseminate me…” She struggled to get the words out around her laughter. “With _vegetables_?” 

Hunter just pouted, crossing one arm over his chest and taking a long swig of his beer. “Just thought you might be giving me a subtle hint is all.”

Bobbi did her best to curtail her laughter and crossed to the fridge that he still leaned against. She put both hands on his shoulders, thumbs stroking the skin at the base of his neck as she caught his gaze.

“Hunter.”

He grunted.

“I promise that if that time comes… which is most definitely _not_ _now,_ when we live on a _secret underground base…”_

His scowl deepened, because he knew she was right.

“I promise that if that time ever comes,” she continued, “I’ll use my words.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. He tried to hold her close, pull her in for more, but she was too fast. 

“Hey, Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, if you don’t want me to get any crazy ideas… maybe consider buying adult vegetables?”


	41. Fitzsimmons + "Please stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For somefitzsimmonsfan on Tumblr: Fitzsimmons + "Please stay."
> 
> Near future, current canon (as of like, Feb. 2016, when I wrote it).

The first night, it’s a mutual terror.

Jemma rips herself from sleep with a scream, and Fitz wrenches himself from his dream with a start, and they both meet in the middle, in the common room, twin walking zombies. They sit in front of late night TV until they feel tired enough to risk retreating to their respective bedrooms.

The next night, Jemma hears Fitz calling her name, over and over with shades of increasing urgency, from the hallway. She lets herself in, perches on the bed beside him, and runs her hand up and down his arm until he’s calmed down enough to go back to sleep. Then she can finally return to her bedroom to rest.

The time after that, it’s planned.

“I’ll be heading to bed around midnight tonight,” said Jemma, eyes trained on the open folder in front of her. “What about you?”

“Same,” he said, looking anywhere but at her. 

“Maybe we could…”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

So that night, instead of drifting off into fitful sleep in their respective beds, they convene in hers (an unspoken agreement formed over the years that anytime they needed to spend time in a bedroom, it was _always_ hers). They lie on top of the covers, facing each other, and it’s as she’s nodding off that she mumbles it.

“Please stay.”

He freezes, both hands clenched together underneath his pillow. Didn’t she know?

She blinked open her eyes slowly, and let one hand slide up to rest on the bed between them. Immediately, he reached out and took it with one of his own.

“I was never going to go anywhere,” he said. “I’m here.” 

“Me as well,” she said. “I’m here.” She squeezed his hand, shutting her eyes again and snuggling into the pillow.

That night, the fact that they were on the same page is the only thing that let Fitz get the deepest, most restful sleep he’d gotten in months.


	42. Fitzsimmons + Soulmate AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somefitzsimmonsfan on Tumblr asked for "If you're still doing the three sentence fics, Fitzsimmons + Soulmates AU"
> 
> Academy era, I’d say, or at least, AU where they’re only recently lab partners.

“I think we should do another round of testing after this,” said Fitz, leaning up on his tiptoes to reach the highest shelf above their shared lab bench. After a moment, his fingers finally grasped the box of pipettes he’d been reaching for, but Jemma couldn’t tear her eyes away from his lower back, and the sliver of skin that his stretching had exposed. “Do you agree, Jemma?”

She forced herself to meet his eyes as he turned to face her. She hoped she didn’t look as shocked as she felt. “What? Um. Yes. Of course we ought to do that.”

His cheeks flushed as he realized what she’d seen. He pressed both hands to the small of his back, securing his shirt in place. “It’s silly, isn’t it? The idea that some nonsense birthmark at our lower back should dictate who we end up with.”

Jemma felt unfocused, even as her mind replayed the reveal of Fitz’s mark in detail, over and over. “Hmm?”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t you agree? It’s silly, right? Completely unscientific.”

“Oh,” she said absently. She nodded her head, unsure if she was trying to shake herself out of her stupor or in agreement at the idea that soulmate marks were an absurd phenomena. “Right.”

“And anyway, it’s not as if it’s easy to find someone with a matching mark, is it? What are the odds, really?” He busied himself with setting up another round of testing, and Jemma nodded to herself behind him.

As she peered over his shoulder, she let her hand reach behind her to drift over the small of her back, where beneath a thin blouse and equally thin camisole, lay a mark identical to the one that decorated Fitz’s skin. “What are the odds,” she murmured.


	43. Fitzsimmons + meeting Jemma's nieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wakandandperthshire on Tumblr requested "how 'bout a meet Jemma's cousins after FS make it official?" and I mixed up "cousins" with "nieces," but close enough :-)

“It’s going to be _fine_ , Fitz,” Jemma insisted, grasping his arm with both hands as they stood on the sidewalk outside her parents’ house. “My mum and dad love you. They have for years.”

“Yeah, but,” he said, peering up at the house with a grimace. “It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. He could be so _dramatic_ sometimes. “My sister loves you, too. You know that.”

“Lila’s great. She’s a walk in the park, compared to…”

“Ugh, they’re just _kids_ , Fitz.” Jemma gave his elbow a tug, and he stumbled forward onto the cobblestone path that led to the Simmons’ front door. He heaved a huge sigh– _drama queen_ – and dragged his feet every step of the way.

“Yeah, but Jemma, remember, I’m an only child.”

“I know.”

“And a _genius_.”

Jemma furrowed her brow, spinning around to face him so quickly that he nearly ran into her. He righted himself before he could trod on Bart Simmons’ neatly-cut grass, and then stuck his chin out defiantly.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked.

He looked at her as if she should already know. 

“I spent my formative years with kids older than me, not younger,” he said. “When I was 10, I was already taking college courses. I didn’t even spend any time with kids when I  _was_ a kid.”

Jemma frowned thoughtfully. He had a point– and by that logic, perhaps she shouldn’t be as comfortable spending time with her sister’s children as she was. In addition, it _had_ been a couple of years since she had seen them, and children grew up so fast– what if they didn’t remember her? What if they didn’t _like_ her anymore?

“Hey– hey, hey, hey,” he said, ducking his head to meet her eyes and gently tipping her chin up with one hand. “You’ve got Jemma Simmons Panic Face on. You okay?”

Her brows knitted together, and she swallowed thickly. “They might not even _like_ Legos anymore.” She held up the cheerful polka dot gift bag she’d carried from the car, shaking it at him. “What if they don’t like Legos, Fitz?”

A sympathetic smile on his face, Fitz heaved a sigh and reached out to wrap his arms around her. He pulled her into him, and she went willingly, nestling her cheek against his shoulder and slipping her free hand around his waist. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured into her hair, pressing a quick kiss to her head. “They loved you a couple of years ago, and now you’re just a couple of years cooler.”

Jemma chuckled. “Cooler?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back so he could see her but still keep his arms around her shoulders. “You’re cool Auntie Jemma. You’ve been to _outer space_.”

She laughed at that, a real laugh, and let her forehead fall against his collarbone. Her free hand trailed up and down his spine over his sweater, up and down, up and down. “You have, too, you know,” she said against his chest after a moment, her words a bit muffled.

“Come again?”

Jemma pulled back to look up into his eyes. “You’ve been to space, too, you know. I mean, perhaps neither of us were there under the _best_ of circumstances–”

Fitz scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

“–But we’re still the cool aunt and uncle.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m Uncle Fitz?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Of course you are. You’re the only man in my life that they’ve ever met and– and the only one they’re ever going to.” She could do nothing but smile widely at the look of awe on his face. “At this point, your lack of an official title is just a formality.”

His eyes soft, Fitz reached up a hand to tuck her hair behind one ear, then leaned in for a slow kiss. “Auntie Jemma and Uncle Fitz,” he murmured against her lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“So will they,” she whispered. Movement over his shoulder had caught her eye, and she nodded her head toward the house to direct his attention. He turned to see a five-year-old and an eight-year-old standing on the stoop in footie pajamas, grinning at them.

“Hi, Rebecca,” said Jemma, waving at the children. “Hi, Penelope.”

The girls offered shy but excited hellos, and Jemma reached out to take Fitz’s hand. He was right. Auntie Jemma and Uncle Fitz _did_ sound nice.


	44. fitzsimmons + making breakfast together in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jemmamaximoff on Tumblr said, "Hi! Could you write "fitzsimmons+making breakfast together in the morning" au, please? :)"

“Okay, okay,” Fitz muttered to himself as he cracked a third egg into a coffee mug. He craned his neck to see his phone, which he’d set on the counter on the other side of the sink, and read the next step. “Whisk eggs together swiftly.” He frowned. “What if you don’t have a whisk?” **  
**

Though he was tempted to Google that question just like he’d Googled “how to make the best scrambled eggs,” he substituted a fork instead and hoped for the best. In the end, he managed to keep most of the egg mixture inside the mug before pouring it into the pan on the stove.

“Heat on medium, stirring periodically with a rubber or silicone spatula,” he read aloud. Casting his eyes to his already-open utensil drawer, he regretted the fact that he’d never taken his mother up on her offer to take him shopping for kitchen supplies. He supposed a big wooden spoon would have to do.

As the eggs began to firm up in the pan, Fitz started to relax. He could do this. Toast was in the toaster; he had bacon ready to pop in the microwave, and somehow, he was beginning to think he could actually accomplish it all before she woke up.

But that led his train of thought to _her_ , to the fact that _Jemma Simmons,_ who he’d had a crush on since she’d started working in the chem lab on the floor above his nearly a year ago, was _lying naked in his bed_.

And that led to thoughts of the previous evening, of their nearly disastrous dinner date, of the way she’d laughed fondly when his tie almost caught fire from the candle on their table, how she’d never seemed to think his stories were boring or went on for too long, and how she’d suggested they get out of the restaurant in lieu of ordering dessert. How she’d spun around and kissed him when he opened the passenger side door for her to get in his car, and how her hands had never stopped touching him for the rest of the night, not once.

A dazed grin on his face, he felt something wet and viscous on his bare foot, and realized that egg yolk was dripping off the spoon he held aloft as he took a detour through his thoughts. He quickly gave the eggs another stir, hoping they weren’t ruined, before wiping off his foot with a dish towel.

It felt kind of gross, but the memories were worth it.

“Fitz?”

He looked up to see Jemma standing in the doorway to his kitchen, wearing only his t-shirt and her underwear.

He swore under his breath.

“Good morning to you, too,” she said with a chuckle, walking further into the room.

“No, I didn’t mean– good morning.”

“Something smells…” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, burnt, frankly.”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “The toast!” He pressed a button on the side of the machine so that four pieces of blackened toast popped out of the top. He grimaced at the sight.

“Were you making me breakfast?” Jemma asked, a soft smile on her face. He gave a little shrug, casting another longing look at the well-done toast. “Oh, Fitz.”

“I wanted to bring it to you on a tray while you were still in bed, actually,” he added, stepping closer to her. She clucked her tongue, looking touched, and reached out to splay her palms over his chest. He gently wrapped his hands around her wrists and held them there.

“That’s incredibly sweet of you,” she murmured. “But I’m actually not quite hungry yet.”

He frowned. “Oh, I’m– I just assumed you might–”

“Can you think of any way we might be able to work up an appetite this morning?”

Fitz swallowed. “I can, ah, I can come up with a few ideas, yeah.”

Jemma grinned up at him, cocking her head to one side. “Bed followed by breakfast sounds better than breakfast in bed, anyway.”

In spite of the slight growl of his stomach, Fitz had never agreed with someone more.


	45. firecracker (fitzsimmons + the fourth of july)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written just because it was the Fourth of July! 'Murica!

“We have to do  _something_ to celebrate it, Fitz. It’s practically the law here.”

He frowned, peering at her over his quantum physics notes. “But why would we even want to celebrate it? It’s the anniversary of them ditching your country. And it doesn’t have anything to do with mine at all.”

Jemma huffed and gave him her patented eye-roll, something he’d begun to get used to over the past almost-year of being her friend. He’d learned to ignore it-- most of the time.

“But it’s _tradition_ here, and besides, you had no compunction about celebrating Thanksgiving back in November.”

“Not a fair comparison,” he noted, giving into the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any more studying done for the time being. “Thanksgiving involves vast amounts of delicious food.”

 “We can make an apple pie later. That’s a traditional Fourth of July food, I’ve been told.” She scooted to the edge of the desk chair in which she’d been sitting. “Come on, Fitz.”

He let his head rest against the wall behind him, stretching out his legs on his bed, and watched her. She had the same determined look in her eyes that he’d seen when she’d tried to convince Professor Weaver to waive the pre-requisites for her Advanced Biomechanics lab, or to cajole Greta the librarian to let her make a copy of the key to the building so they could study after-hours. Neither Professor Weaver nor Greta had been able to resist, so how could Fitz?

He closed his eyes with a groan. When he opened them, the look on her face told him that she knew she’d won. “What do I have to do?”

And that’s how an hour and a half later, after swinging by a dubious-looking and brightly-colored shack of a fireworks shop on the outskirts of town, they were standing in the middle of the park with a sackful of low-grade explosives.

“You know, there was an enormous fireworks show going on downtown tonight,” he said as she struck a match and held it to the tip of a long metal sparkler. “We could have just gone there. Saved ourselves the trouble of singing our own eyebrows off.”

Her tongue just barely poked out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated on lighting the sparkler. “But you hate big crowds, and the hassle of parking downtown, so I figured this was a much better choice.” The sparkler ignited, and she held it aloft with a grin. “Plus, this park is right around the corner from your favorite 24-hour diner, so we can pop in for a snack afterward.”

Fitz blinked at her a few times, and a warm feeling began to bloom in his chest. “You’ve been planning on this for awhile, haven’t you?”

Her smug smile said it all.

“Alright. I give in. Hand me something to set on fire.” She tossed the spent sparkler into a pile to dispose of later and rifled in the bag for another pack, lighting two with a practiced finesse. She really was good at everything, wasn’t she?

“What do Americans say at this point?” he asked, taking the lit sparkler she offered. “Down with King George? Hooray for bald eagles?”

“I think we can ring in the Fourth without any chants of USA, USA, USA,” she answered wryly. “But look, Fitz!” She waved her sparkler in a broad figure-eight, eyes dancing. “It’s beautiful!”

He watched her laugh, her nose crinkling with joy, this girl who had burst into his life like a firecracker that refused to burn out. He didn’t very much care about celebrating the Fourth of July, but he’d happily observe any holiday that made her smile like that.


	46. fitzsimmons + "have you ever thought about leaving SHIELD?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For pipsqueak216 on Tumblr, who requested: Fitzsimmons + "Have you ever thought about leaving SHIELD?"

“Have you ever thought about leaving SHIELD?” Her voice is quiet when she says it, and he almost doesn’t hear her over the rumble of thunder from the afternoon storm. They’re lounging together on the wicker sofa that sits on the screened-in porch of their Seychelles villa, her head pillowed on his chest, his hand drawing elaborate circles like Gallifreyan on her exposed hip. **  
**

“Yes,” he says at last.

“When?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “While you were missing.”

She stiffens in his arms, but just barely, like her time on the planet is becoming more of a faded memory every day. “What stopped you?”

He shrugs, careful not to jostle her. “I needed resources. SHIELD had them. In dwindling quantities, maybe, but even so. It would have been that much harder to search on my own.”

“Mm. I’m glad you didn’t leave, then.”

He cranes his neck to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too.” A beat of silence. “Have you ever thought about it? Leaving SHIELD, I mean?” Another crack of thunder, and the candles they’ve lit on the side table flicker and sway in the dim light of the storm.

She nods against his chest. “A thousand times. Most of which occurred in the last few weeks.”

“What was the first?”

She’s silent for a moment, then speaks. “Do you remember our second mission with the team? In Peru?”

He nods.

“It was the first time I really realized how much my dragging you out into the field put you in danger. Danger I couldn’t do a thing about.” Her voice is low again, muffled against his chest. He leans up as far as he can to look at her.

“Hey, no. You don’t get to blame yourself for that. That was my choice. And besides, there’s a statute of limitations on blaming yourself, isn’t there?”

She chuckles. “Maybe.”

“Well. For what it’s worth, I’m glad we didn’t leave SHIELD then.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Even if it would have saved us a lot of trouble if we had.”

“We?”

He smooths her hair and kissed her head again. “You didn’t think I’d let you leave without me, did you?”


	47. fitzsimmons + "well, what would you rather do then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For inevitablyfitzsimmons on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + "Well, what would you rather do then?"

“Well, what would you rather do, then?”

Fitz huffed impatiently, as if he was just barely restraining himself from stamping his foot, and Jemma couldn’t help the giggle bubbling up inside of her. Sometimes, he was the most adorable man she’d ever met in her life. “You _know_ what I want to do.”

She crossed her arms, but then thought better of it when the beading of her dress began to chafe at her sensitive skin. She let them fall to her side, resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips. “Do I?”

“‘Course you do. It’s tradition.”

“I’d say you’re standing the way of tradition, actually,” she said, gesturing at how he stood between her and the doorway, blocking her way to their bedroom with his body. And while she admired the smart grey suit he wore on said body, she couldn’t help think that she’d prefer to see him out of it, and as soon as possible. She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be getting inside? To proceed to all the _other_ things that are meant to happen on one’s wedding night?”

“Not before…” he trailed off, shrugging a shoulder.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Fitz, it’s just our _bunk_. It’s down the hall from six others just like it, around the corner from the communal kitchen.”

“It’s still where we _live_. It still has a threshold.”

She sighed. “And you’d like to carry me over it.”

He tilted his chin up defiantly. “If you’ll ever stop bickering with me, yes.”

A fond grin overtook her face, and she slid her arms up around his neck, smoothing over the fabric of his lapels. “Never.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his agitated expression giving way to a grin of his own, his eyes soft. “But–”

“Ugh, Fitz. Yes, you may pick me up and carry me over the threshold of our tiny shared bunk in our covert, concrete underground base.” She shook her head sardonically. “Home, sweet home.”

“Good, then.” He stepped out of her arms and eyed her as if trying to sort out the best way to go about what he wanted to do.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a heated kiss to his lips, and after he seemed to get his bearings, ran one leg up and around his calf to encourage him to lift her. Ever the genius, her Fitz, he took the hint, shifting his hands around her thighs to hoist her up. She wrapped both legs tight around his waist as she deepened the kiss, and he stumbled them both through the door, just barely managing to nudge it shut behind him with one foot. He didn’t have a free hand to lock it, but she felt quite certain everyone would give the newlyweds a wide berth.

As Fitz deposited her onto the bed, her simple dress hitched over her thighs and his tie askew, Jemma began to think that maybe some traditions were worth maintaining, after all.


	48. Brotp Daisy\Fitz + "That is not 'just' a scratch"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon on tumblr who requested Brotp Daisy\Fitz + "That is not 'just' a scratch"

Daisy was surprised to see the lights still on in the lab when she returned from the mission late at night. She and May had been off the grid for two whole days after comms went down, and all she wanted to do was face-plant into bed. Still, her curiosity was piqued. When she poked her head into the lab, she saw Fitz hunched over a lab bench, muttering to himself. **  
**

“Jemma kick you outta bed?” she asked with a half-smile, leaning against the doorjamb. He whirled around, eyes a little wild, and she furrowed her brow. “Everything okay, Fitz?”

“Daisy– you’re– we didn’t know–”

She held up both hands, palms up. “Here I am. Alive and well. Sorry I couldn’t keep you guys updated. Things got a little dicey out there.” She shuddered at the memory. “There are some freaky-looking creatures in this world. I don’t know if that thing was Inhuman, or–”

“It wasn’t.”

Daisy frowned and took a step forward into the lab. Fitz stepped backward. “Fitz. What’re you talking about? Did you guys figure out what the hell that thing was while May and I were out there?”

He nodded, slowly, gravely. It made Daisy shiver. Before she could ask what he and Jemma had found, his gaze drifted down to her upper arm, where the fabric of her tactical suit was torn.

“What– what happened?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the spot.

“That? That’s just a scratch. I told you, things got dicey. May really came through, though; you shoulda seen the way she–”

“That is not _just_ a scratch,” he interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed, then finally dragged his eyes up to meet hers. It had been a long, long time since she’d seen him look so scared.

“It means I think we need to get you into quarantine.”

She balked. “What?”

“Daisy. Inhumans aren’t the only things out there anymore.” He sucked in a shaky breath.

“What?” she said again, her voice just a whisper.

“It’s, um. It’s zombies. Jemma– Jemma confirmed it herself this afternoon. We’re looking at a potential outbreak. And the virus– it’s transferred by–” He nodded to her arm, then grimaced. “A scratch.”

She blinked at him, then turned her head to stare down at her arm, which bore a long red gash courtesy of the freakish monster they’d been tracking for days. Her blood ran cold.

“ _Fuuuuuck_.”


	49. Clintasha + "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for clintashersson on tumblr, who requested Clintasha: "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Clint asked, twirling an arrow between his fingers. Natasha looked up at him from her spot on the couch, one eyebrow raised. **  
**

“Of course it’s not a good idea.”

He scowled at her. “I thought you said it was a good idea.”

“All I said was that we needed more wine. The rest was all you.” She gestured with her empty wine glass, tucking her legs up under her on the couch.

Clint shrugged and turned his attention back to his arrow, nodding as if to psych himself up. “It’s a good idea. ‘Course it’s a good idea.”

“Mmhmm. I’m not cleaning up broken glass. Or wine-stained carpet, for that matter.”

“No need,” he muttered, his eyes squinting as he mentally calculated distance, speed and trajectory.

“You know you’ll still have to get up to get the wine even if this works.”

“But think of all the time it’ll save. Whole _seconds_ of our lives we’ll get back.”

Natasha sighed. “Alright. Let’s see it.”

With one more resolute nod, Clint swiftly pulled his bow out from beneath the couch and aimed, shooting an arrow high into the air. They both watched it make a smooth arc out of the living room and toward the kitchen, finally wedging itself neatly in the center of the cork of the last bottle of cabernet. After a moment, the arrow popped back up again, the cork stuck on the tip, and flew back to land in Clint’s eager, outstretched palm.

“See?” he said, turning to her with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Boomerang corkscrew arrow. It’s gonna be a thing.”

Natasha couldn’t complain. They really had needed more wine.


	50. fitzsimmons + "you're adorable when you do that"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jemmasimmouns on tumblr, who requested fitzsimmons + "you're adorable when you do that"

“You’re adorable when you do that, you know,” Jemma said, a soft smile on her face. Fitz met her eyes in the mirror, his toothbrush stilling mid-stroke, his brow furrowed. **  
**

“Whe’ I buh mah tee’?” he said around the toothbrush, little flecks of toothpaste decorating the mirror in front of them.

Jemma giggled, picking up her pot of moisturizer and getting a glob of it on her fingertips. “Yeah.”

Fitz shimmied his shoulders a bit, a pleased look on his face, and continued to brush. He spat into the sink. “I’m always adorable.”

“I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far,” Jemma said, smoothing the moisturizer into her skin.

“No,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. He rinsed his toothbrush and popped it back into the cup on the edge of the sink, right beside hers. “It’s true. Brushing one’s teeth is a decidedly _un_ adorable task, ergo if I’m even adorable doing that, then I must be adorable all the time.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. She plucked a length of floss from the plastic pack on the counter and began to use it. “That’s a flawed hypothesis,” she said in between teeth.

“Nope. You said it, not me. Scientifically speaking, I’m adorable at all times. Year-round. 24/7.”

She finished up with the floss and tossed the strand in the trash, surveying their shared bathroom countertop to make sure she was finished with her nightly routine. She was. Then she turned to him, meeting his eyes for real instead of just in the mirror, and smirked.

“Maybe more like an average of 21/5. Remember, I’ve seen you at your worst.” She stepped closer to him, and his hand moved to rest on her hip, his touch warm through the cotton fabric of her pajama bottoms.

“And when exactly am I _not_ adorable?”

Jemma began to tick items off on her fingers. “Oh, when you’re complaining, when you’re overly hungry– which means you’re complaining, when you’re ill– which, unsurprisingly, _also_ means you’re complaining…”

“Okay, okay,” he said, chuckling. He slid his hand around her waist to the small of her back, tugging her in closer so their hips touched. “Note to self– complain less.”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” she said, tipping her head up so that her lips almost brushed his, their minty breath intermingling. “You wouldn’t be Fitz if you didn’t complain every now and then.”

“So which is more important? To be adorable, or to be Fitz?” He moved his other hand to the back of her head, fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Same thing,” she whispered, closing the gap between them. The kiss was soft and slow, like they had all the time in the world. When she pulled away, he grinned at her.

“So you admit it? I’m adorable all the time?”

Jemma laughed and turned around, reaching back to take his hand and lead him out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. “I think I need more time to test that hypothesis.”

“How much more time?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, slipping into bed and watching him do the same. They rolled onto their sides to face each other, and he began to play with the hem of her tank top. “Maybe forever. Is that alright?”

He smiled at her and scooted closer to her on the bed. “Scientific discovery never ends,” he mumbled, kissing her again with more urgency this time. Perhaps they didn’t actually have all the time in the world, but they would make the most of the time they had.  


	51. fitzsimmons + leaping into the others’ arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon on Tumblr. Non-SHIELD AU, early established relationship. Also ft. Jemma/Daisy brOTP.

“You know he only lives three miles from the airport, right? He could have taken an Uber for like six bucks.” **  
**

Jemma ignored Daisy as she scanned the Arrivals board. Her eyes lit up when she found his flight, and she plowed forward, nearly tripping over a businessman’s errant laptop bag. As she cringed and muttered her apologies, Daisy watched incredulously.

“Jemma Anne Simmons, you have got it _bad_. You owe me _so hard_ for setting you two up.”  

“Oh, that’s enough, Daisy,” Jemma said over her shoulder. She led her friend briskly toward the area in which friends and family could greet travelers as they got off the escalator from the main terminal, selecting a spot right in the center. She furrowed her brow, looking around. “Do you think he’ll be able to spot us here?”

Daisy chuckled. “Yes, I think your genius boyfriend will be able to pick us out of a lineup.” Slightly reassured, Jemma let herself exhale, slipping the paper sign she held back and forth between her index and middle finger. “He’s been gone, what, two weeks?”

“Fifteen days.”

“Are you afraid he forgot what you look like?”

“Of course not,” Jemma dismissed. “We’ve FaceTimed nearly every night.”

“Whoa, okay, I don’t want any more information about _that_ ,” Daisy said, palms held up. “Seriously though. What’s got you worked up? You’ve never picked any of your other boyfriends up at the airport.”

Jemma craned her neck to see if Fitz was among the throng of passengers the escalator was spitting out onto the tile floor. When the crowd dissipated without a curly-haired engineer in sight, she finally turned her attention to her friend. “I’m not afraid he’s forgotten me.” She couldn’t help but scoff at the idea. “Believe me, Daisy, I know that’s not the case.”

“Again, don’t wanna hear–-”

“I just–-” Jemma let out a breathy laugh and shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t wait to see him again.”

Daisy clucked her tongue, furrowing her brow and sighing. “That’s so incredibly sweet. Especially coming from you.”

Jemma had turned back to the escalator, but spun around to glare at Daisy when her words sunk in. “What on Earth is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Hey, I’m just saying, you’re not exactly Ms. Romantic.”

“I’ll have you know, Daisy, that I can be _quite-_ –”

“Hey, there he is!”

Jemma’s eyes went wide, and she whirled back to face the escalator. At first, all she could see was a group of tourists in matching family reunion t-shirts, but once they’d moved on to baggage claim, she spotted him. His eyes seemed to find her at the same time, and after a breathless second, he broke into a grin. Carefully dodging an elderly woman, he hurried toward Jemma, dragging his bag behind him.

She bit her lip, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “oh, to hell with it,” and tossed her sign onto the ground, surging forward to press her lips against his right in the middle of the airport. She kissed him hard, running her hands up over his chest, along his neck and into his hair. For his part, he’d dropped the handle of his suitcase and his hands had flown to her lower back, fisting in her cheery pink cardigan. One of them worked its way underneath, disappearing beneath the hem of her blouse, and Jemma tugged him ever closer.

“Aww,” Daisy said, leaning down to pick up the sign Jemma had dropped. She stood back up just in time to catch Fitz’s hands sliding along Jemma’s hips and under her ass, supporting her as she hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist. He staggered a bit, letting out a cross between a moan and a grunt, but his lips never left hers. “Oh god, guys, not in the airport,” Daisy muttered. Wincing, she used the “Passenger Leo Fitz” sign she held to shield her eyes, vowing to give them thirty seconds and no more before breaking up the lovefest and making them keep their hands in sight all the way home.

Good lord. What a monster she’d created.


	52. Fitzsimmons + trying to play footsie with the other during a meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for agentverbivore on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + “trying to play footsie with the other during a meeting”

Fitz rubbed at his jaw and stared down at his laptop, which sat on the table in front of them. Coulson’s debriefings were often long, but rarely had they been _this_ long, _this_ late in the night. He tried to pay attention to Coulson and May’s discussion about the labyrinthine floor plan of the armory they had successfully infiltrated hours earlier, but their words swam in his head. He yawned, loudly.

A few feet to his right, Jemma shifted in her chair. “Tired?” she whispered, her gaze still on Coulson and May across the room.

“Mmhmm,” Fitz answered. “‘s late.”

“Mm.”

He rolled his neck in a slow circle before blinking at his laptop screen, checking on the results of the DWARFs’ biometric scans. Everything looked fairly standard. His eyelids began to slip shut. Just then, Jemma’s foot nudged his under the table.

“Sorry,” he muttered on instinct, moving his own foot out of her way. But it followed his, pressing flush against the outside of his boot, her calf warm against his. His brow furrowed, just a little.

“Don’t be,” she murmured. Out of his peripheral vision, he watched her lean forward to pick up a pen from the table, then lean back and drop it onto the ground, quite intentionally. “Darn,” she said. She reached down, and he thought he heard her untying the laces of her boot before she sat back up, pen in hand. He frowned.

“Fitz, how’re the scans looking?” Coulson called out to him from the other side of the room. Fitz perked up a bit, at least for show, tapping a few keys on his laptop.

“Looking good, sir. Should be complete within ten minutes.”

“Good. Anything unusual?”

Fitz opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut when he felt the unmistakable sensation of Jemma’s socked foot hooking around his ankle and creeping up the back of his pant leg. He swallowed thickly.

“Everything’s just fine, sir.”

Coulson looked distractedly down at the folder in his grip before handing it off to May. “Great. I know it’s late. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Fitz thought he heard Jemma chuckle at Coulson’s choice of words, but he refused to look at her. How could he, when the tip of her toe was ghosting over his Achilles’ tendon? He hadn’t even known that was an erogenous zone, but by the way he had to make an effort to regulate his breathing, it very clearly was. He cleared his throat.

“Everything alright, Fitz?” Jemma asked softly. He let himself glance over at her out of the corner of his eyes– her head cocked to the side, the picture of innocence. Meanwhile, she was drawing gentle constellations on his lower calf and making him wonder what other body parts might be more sensitive than he’d ever known. She’d always been the anatomy expert of the two of them; she’d been holding out on him.

“Just fine,” he said breathlessly. She continued her ministrations, toeing up and down his calf, the feather-light touches sending shivers along his limbs. He let out a long, shaky breath, willing himself to remain calm. It was just her _foot_ on his _leg_ , for heaven’s sake. Nothing to get worked up about.

Just then, she scooted her chair back and to the right a few inches, positioning herself further away from him so she could face him more fully. He jerked at the sound of metal on concrete, and his eyes met hers– her warm, beautiful, _mischievous_ eyes. She kept her gaze locked on his as she moved her foot from his right leg to his left, where she had a superior angle to slide it up along the side of his pant leg, over his calf, around the apparently sensitive inside of his knee, up over his inner thigh to–

_Ding_.

“That the scans, Fitz?” asked Coulson with a raised eyebrow. Jemma’s foot dropped silently to the floor, but her upper body had remained mostly still all along, so to Coulson and May she appeared to be paying the utmost attention. Fitz coughed once, twice.

“Erm, ye– yes, sir. Got ‘em. Sending them to your tablet…” He typed a command. “Now.” He shut his laptop and fixed his gaze on anything but Jemma’s smirking face.

“Excellent. Now get to bed, you two.”

“We’ll do that, sir,” chirped Jemma, popping up from her chair. She held out a hand for Fitz, who remained stubbornly seated. “Fitz?” She grinned down at him. “Coming?”

He sucked in a shaky breath and took her hand, standing awkwardly and scooping up his laptop to hold in front of him. She pulled him toward the door of the briefing room and he followed quickly, eager to put distance between himself and anyone else in the world aside from Jemma.

“You heard the man,” he intoned as they crossed the threshold into the corridor. Once safely out of sight of Coulson and May, he let go of her hand and pinched her gently on the side of her hip, making her jump with a little giggle. He smoothed his hand over the spot he’d pinched and slipped it around the small of her back, urging her down the hallway even faster, before leaning down to whisper into her ear, “Let’s get you to bed.”


	53. Fitzsimmons + pinning the other against the wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an anon on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + “pinning the other against the wall."
> 
> College AU.

“Are you sure this is where you want to go?” Fitz shouted, his face just inches from Jemma’s ear. Still, she could barely hear him. The noise that spilled out of the trendy club was cacophonous, even where they stood in the lobby behind the velvet rope, waiting to be let in.

“Yes!” She adjusted the hem of her dress– it was several inches shorter than she was accustomed to, and much snugger, too. Her mother had sent her a cheque for her birthday and told her to buy something pretty with it, so she had. She angled her head toward Fitz so he could hear her over the din. “It’s my 21st birthday, Fitz. This is what one does on one’s 21st birthday!”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever happened to cake and ice cream,” he muttered, but she pretended she couldn’t hear. At last, the bouncer nodded to them. With a wide grin, Jemma flashed her ID. It still read “Under 21,” but the birth date printed on it was unmistakable. The broad man barely glanced at the card, however, waving her forward before peering at Fitz’s for a full minute.

“You’re good,” the man said finally, and then they were both inside. Jemma took Fitz’s hand and pulled him to the bar– they’d better get started on all the trappings of a traditional 21st birthday celebration.

An hour later, she felt warm and slightly inebriated. They’d tried one each of the shots the bartender recommended, and she was sipping a cocktail while Fitz downed a beer as they leaned back against the side of the bar.

“Maybe you were right, Simmons,” he yelled after finishing the last of his drink. “This isn’t so bad.”

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “That’s the alcohol talking, Fitzy.” She tilted her head to the side, sipping from her straw. “You hate this place.”

“Do not!”

“Liar.”

He just shrugged, half a smile on his face, and turned to order another beer. She eyed him as he did so, appreciating the way he’d dressed up for the occasion, just a bit. He wore a blue button-down he knew she liked, and the dark jeans she’d complimented when he’d bought them. When he leaned further onto the bar to get the bartender’s attention, she got a better look at the way said jeans hugged his arse, and sipping idly at her drink, she thought she liked that, too.

“Want anything?” he asked her, and her gaze snapped up to his face. She held up her nearly-empty glass in answer and he nodded. He was the _best_ best friend, wasn’t he?

Once both of their drinks had been freshened, they turned back to the club at large.

“Are we ever going to dance?” she asked him after a few sips. He wrinkled his nose, and she gave him her best pleading eyes, the ones that had convinced him to let her crash in his room for a week when her roommate’s boyfriend visited from out of state, and to always let her have the last slice of pizza even though he loved the combination of pineapple and ham as much as she did.

“I’m rubbish at it,” he said, which wasn’t a no, exactly.

“I bet you’re not.”

“You’d lose that bet.”

“Whatever, Fitz.”

He laughed. “Intelligent argument, Simmons.” But then he sighed, and smiled, and jerked his head toward the dance floor. She held up one finger, noisily slurping the rest of her drink in one long sip, and when she looked up, he looked impressed. He bit his lip, then chugged the remainder of his beer and set the glass on the bar with a resounding thunk. She took his hand and led him onto the dance floor.

As it turned out, he was right: he was rubbish at dancing. Yet he kept her in stitches, his jerky and awkward motions clearly exaggerated for her benefit. She giggled and he beamed with pride.

The music changed, and Jemma’s eyebrows shot up. “I love this song!” she shouted at him, and he nodded, gaze pointed upward toward the ceiling as if that would help him hear it better. It was a remix with a pulsing beat, slower and more sensual than the electronic-tinged pop the club had been playing all night. Jemma began to move, swaying side to side, sashaying her hips and feeling the beat thrum through her body. Fitz stood there unblinkingly, just watching her, and she grinned. His gaze felt warm and welcome.

Over Fitz’s shoulder, Jemma noticed a group of guys that looked like they were attending a bachelor party, pushing their way through the crowd with drinks in each hand. They came closer, and just as the leader’s elbow nearly made contact with Fitz’s head, she reached out and grabbed his hand, yanking him out of the way.

He stumbled forward and she stumbled back, her shoulders hitting the wall of the club just as the song reached its pulsing chorus. Once he regained his balance, Fitz swiftly realized he was pressed almost right up against her and made to move away, but either the alcohol or a dose of birthday courage made Jemma reach out and grasp his hips, keeping him in place. He stared at her without blinking, his breath coming in quicker; she licked her lips and began to move. She danced to the beat, pinned between the wall and her best friend, her heart beating in time to the music. She slid her hands up to his shoulders and his tentatively rested on her hips, fingers flexing. As the chorus faded into the last verse, she arched her back up off the wall so that her chest was pressed to his, holding his gaze all the while. His movements were small and subtle, but with her body so close to him, she could feel each and every one of them.

The song came to a close, and Jemma let out a shaky breath. Her arms still linked behind Fitz’s head, she tilted her chin up and whispered, “Maybe we should get out of here.”

He pulled back, blinking at her. “I completely agree.” She grinned, letting her palms slide down over the the planes of his chest. “Doctor Who and a pizza sounds like a good way to end the night.”

Jemma’s smile faltered, and she turned away, starting toward the exit to the club. Brow furrowed, she felt him a step behind her, his body heat still warming her even with more space between them.

“Or, um,” he muttered, so low she could scarcely hear it over the music. “Or something else.”

Her heart sped up and a slow smile formed on her face. She reached back to grasp at his hand, tugging him out of the club with more urgency.

Happy birthday to her, indeed.  


	54. Fitzsimmons + having a wet dream and calling the other’s name during it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr anon who requested Fitzsimmons + having a wet dream and calling the other’s name during it.
> 
> Academy-era AU. Pardon my lack of expertise on guys' wet dreams.

Jemma sighed as she reviewed her notes for the fourth time. They weren’t making much more sense than they had before. **  
**

To her credit, she was a biochem specialist taking a very high-level engineering course, so it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary that she might be struggling. But it would have helped if her study partner and primary impetus for taking said class were awake, rather than asleep and drooling on her throw pillow.

“Fitz, would you wake up?” she muttered, shuffling her notes in front of her. On the other end of the couch, he stirred but didn’t wake, pressing his face further into the decorative pillow. She sighed. “Fine. I’ll make do on my own.”

Fitz groaned, and she glared at his sleeping form. He had his knees bent so he could curl up along two-thirds of the couch, his bare feet tucked beneath Jemma’s crossed legs. He looked peaceful, though she noticed a tiny furrow between his eyebrows. Maybe he was having a bad dream.

“Mmmm,” he groaned, still asleep.

“That’s right, Fitz. Mmmm going to fail this exam if you don’t wake up and help me study.” She knew it wasn’t true– even without the prerequisites for the course, even without the background in engineering that Fitz and all the other students had, she was on track for at least a solid B. But Jemma Simmons was not a B student.

“Jemma,” Fitz muttered. She peered down at him, but his eyes were still closed.

“Are you up?” she asked.

“Jemmmma,” he said, spreading out the word like butter on a toasted blueberry scone. It made her feel warm inside and she didn’t know why. Perhaps she was hungry?

“What is it, Fitz?” He jerked in his sleep a bit, his legs twitching. She frowned down at him. “Are you alright?”

He made a sound in response– but this time, it was unmistakably a moan. Jemma felt herself flush hot as she realized what was happening.

Fitz was having a sex dream. While he napped next to her on the couch. And she was the main character.

At first, she wondered if she should wake him up. Of course she should. It was the kind thing to do. But then she remembered how it had felt when they’d been at a SHIELD conference in Seattle, and he’d called someone by the wrong name and then realized it after they’d left. He’d been mortified, and impossible to be around all evening. She could only imagine his embarrassment if she woke him up and he fully realized what he’d been doing.

“Fuuuuuck,” he murmured, and she sucked in a slow breath. For some reason, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She watched his face, relaxed but for the crease between his brows, his pink lips parted just so. She was particularly fixated on those lips, and she wasn’t sure why.

Although, they were quite lovely, his lips. Flushed pink and nicely formed and incredibly enticing when he smiled. When she really considered it, there were plenty of reasons one might fixate on Fitz’s lips.

“God, Jemmaaaa,” he moaned softly, said lips just barely moving. The motion snapped her out of her reverie, though, and she shifted her focus to his body: the way he was curled up on the couch; the way he shifted every so often in time with his moans. His toes wiggled beneath her thigh and she felt it in her core, the contact making even her least erogenous zones sensitive.

Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and she sat stock still as she watched him. She couldn’t take her eyes off his sleeping form. Her breathing came in fast and heavy, and she wanted so badly to wake him up, embarrassment be damned. But what would she even say? More importantly, what would she do?

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and she felt a tingle travel down her spine at the sight, through her legs and into her toes. She wanted to lick him. And this was entirely new but somehow, entirely not as well.

“Fffuck, yeah, Jemm-ma,” he groaned, his hips twitching forward, and then mumbled his way back into deep sleep. Jemma sat there with her mouth open. Her notes were long forgotten, and in place of her studies, she knew three things to be absolute fact:

1\. Her best friend in the world had just had a wet dream about her.  
2\. She had never felt so turned on in her entire life.  
3\. She was going to have to get far, far away from him in order to ace this test, but nevertheless, ace it she would.

A week later, Jemma grinned down at an A- marked on one of the most difficult tests she’d ever taken.

She celebrated by pushing Fitz up against the wall and kissing him like the A+ student that she was.


	55. Fitzsimmons + being drenched whilst wearing white

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For bioforensics on Tumblr, who requested "Fitzsimmons + being drenched whilst wearing white."
> 
> Either SciTech era or AU where they never joined Coulson’s team. Something like that.

“It’s not my fault,” Fitz muttered, shrugging out of his suit jacket and slinging it over his shoulder as they ambled along the darkened side of the road.

“I didn’t say that it was, Fitz,” Jemma said tersely.

He kicked a pebble and it skittered a few feet ahead of them. “How was I to know this town only had three cabs?”

“It’s more a village than a town, isn’t it?”

Fitz huffed. “Well, then why’d they have a bloody SHIELD conference here, anyway?” Jemma only shrugged, tugging her purse higher on her shoulder. They had a good couple of kilometers to walk before they’d be back at the inn. “And besides,” he continued against his better judgment. “I can’t help it if they had too much delicious food at the thing.”

“No, but you _could_ help sticking around for seconds until everyone but the castle staff had left,” she noted. “There _will_ be other meals, you know. Those crab puffs weren’t the last thing you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

“But they were so good,” he whined. Jemma rolled her eyes, but nudged him with her shoulder to let him know she wasn’t mad. Not _really_. The gala had been quite fancy, and they’d made a good deal of connections. If the worst thing to happen that night was a long walk back to the inn, then it would still be a perfectly lovely evening.

“I wish I’d worn flats,” she said, trying to avoid potholes and dips in the asphalt as she walked beside him in her heels.

“Want me to carry them?”

Jemma giggled, shooting him a mirthful glance. “I thought for a second you were going to offer to carry _me_.”

He frowned, a defensive look on his face. “What? I could do that!”

“Mmm. I’m sure you could,” she offered, reaching out to rub his back reassuringly.

“I could.”

“That’s quite alright. We’re almost there.”

He peered into the darkness ahead of them, the road lit by the occasional streetlamp, the light of the moon filtering through the clouds. “At least we’re well-fed?” Jemma laughed again, and after a moment, he chuckled, too.

They walked in comfortable silence for several minutes, and Jemma began to think they might make it back to the inn without incidence. Then they heard it– a clap of thunder.

“No…” Fitz muttered, eyes on the sky.

“Surely it won’t–” Jemma began, but a lightning bolt illuminated the darkened clouds, and she swallowed her words.

Their eyes met, and as a fat drop of rain splashed right in the center of Fitz’s forehead, he grabbed her hand and said, “Run.”

They ran as fast as the condition of the road would allow, hands linked between them. Jemma tugged on him after a moment to stop and slipped off her shoes, carrying them with her free hand.

“Much better,” she said, and they resumed jogging down the street. The rain was sporadic at first, warm summer droplets dampening her hair, but as they ran, it began to come down harder.

“Wait, do you want my–” Fitz slowed their pace and held up his suit jacket.

“I don’t think I need to protect my appearance from the elements at 11 o’clock at night,” she answered with a laugh, pulling on his hand to speed them up.

It was Fitz’s turn to roll his eyes, and he stopped in the street, dropping her hand and draping the jacket over her purse. “I meant for your bag. You’ve got our schematics in there.”

“Fair point,” she conceded, and picked up his hand again. “Now let’s go!”

By the time they could see the inn in the distance, they were both completely drenched, and Jemma had laughed harder than she could remember laughing in quite some time. First, when Fitz had stepped right into a massive puddle such that his right shoe squelched with every stride, and then at the sheer ridiculousness of running through the streets of a tiny Irish village with her best friend, both soaked from head to toe.

“There it is!” Fitz announced, and gestured to the quaint building. They rushed past a few darkened storefronts and then they were home at last, ducking underneath the awning that hung in front of the inn.

He leaned over with both hands on his knees to catch his breath. She draped his soggy suit coat over the arm that held her heels and checked on the schematics inside her purse– still reasonably dry, thankfully– and turned to face him. When he stood up straight, she laughed.

“Your hair,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. He reached up a hand to touch his curls, and then shook his head from side to side like a lion shaking out its mane. Droplets flew everywhere, and Jemma laughed even harder.

“Better?”

“Much.”

The space under the awning was lit by a yellow lantern, and as clouds obscuring the moon drifted away, Jemma took a long look at him in the warm light, a smile still on her face. His white dress shirt was soaked through, and it idly occurred to her that she was glad she’d worn a dark navy dress. He breathed heavily in and out, his chest rising and falling, and she couldn’t help but watch the way the fabric clung to his biceps, to the planes of his chest. Fitz had never been the most well-muscled man she’d known, but he had filled out nicely over the years, and somehow she’d never really noticed it until just now.

“Should we go inside?” he asked, and she tore her eyes away from his chest. She was briefly distracted by a drop of water sliding down the column of his throat, and swallowed as she followed its path over his clavicle until it disappeared beneath his shirt.

“What?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

Fitz cocked his head to one side, a look of concern in his eyes. “I said, should we go in? It’s so wet out here, we’re not likely to air-dry much.”

“Oh– yes, of course.”

She spun around and pulled open the door, and he followed her to their room. She slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open, setting her still-damp purse on the tiny desk in the corner with care.

When she turned back around, Fitz had already unbuttoned his dress shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders, dropping it in wet pile on the carpet. She looked down at the shirt on the floor, then back up to Fitz, trying not to let her gaze linger on his newly-exposed chest, and utterly failing.

As he turned to grab a towel from the en suite bathroom, she watched the muscles in his back move, biting her lip as her eyes drifted down to his waist, and the way his suit pants fit him quite nicely, if she said so herself.

He looked over his shoulder at her and she met his eyes guiltily. “Towel?” he asked, and then tossed her a fresh one. She caught it, and wrung the terry fabric with both hands as he crossed to sit on the edge of one of the beds and towel-dry his hair.

It was going to be a long night.


	56. Fitzsimmons + bending over seductively to pick something up for the other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tashonix on Tumblr, who requested "Fitzsimmons + bending over seductively to pick something up for the other."
> 
> Canon-compliant when it was written, early season 4.

“What are you doing?” Jemma wrinkled her nose, swatting at Fitz’s hands, which had slid over her hips from behind. “I’m working.”

Fitz pouted a bit, but relented. He took a few steps back to lean against a nearby lab table. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Yes, and the Director needs these results written up–”

“–you mean translated for his elementary reading level,” Fitz muttered. Jemma pretended to ignore him.

“–by first thing tomorrow morning.”

Fitz pushed off from the table and crossed over to stand beside Jemma. He ran one finger along the edge of her desk, a frown on his face. “He’s got you working an awful lot.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Jealous, are we?”

“No,” he said petulantly. “Would just be nice to, you know, spend some time with my girlfriend every once in awhile.”

Jemma sighed, finally turning to face him. She ran a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “And we will. Later. Once I’m finished up here, I promise. I just need to stay focused so that I can get this done.”

With one more squeeze of his arm, she turned back to her computer screen, tapping away at her keyboard. Fitz bit his lip. He was proud of Jemma’s promotion, even if he didn’t completely trust the new Director yet. But did she _really_ need to stay up so late working just because the man barely had an undergrad understanding of science? Wasn’t that _his_ fault for choosing not to invest in his own education?

 _That’s right,_ Fitz thought. Jemma shouldn’t pay for the Director’s academic failings. Now he just had to convince _her_ of that.

Well, he had a leg up over the Director, didn’t he? As subtly as he could manage, Fitz reached his arms up over his head in a stretch, puffing his chest out. He’d untucked his shirt when he’d finished his own work for the day, and he could feel cool air along the strip of stomach exposed by the motion. He yawned to really sell it.

“You’re welcome to go to bed, if you’re tired,” Jemma said, eyes not leaving her screen. “I’ll be along shortly.”

 _Hmm_. Clearly more serious measures were required. Fitz glanced around the lab, looking for just the thing, when– _yes_! He stepped around Jemma’s desk and walked quickly over to one of the lab assistants’ workspaces– Sharon, or Mikhail, perhaps; he could never keep them straight. When he returned to Jemma’s side, he clutched a Rubik’s cube in one hand.

He leaned casually on his elbows next to her and began to fiddle with it, his fingers maneuvering the colored blocks with a swift certainty. He kept his gaze on his actions but spied Jemma looking at him out of his periphery, her mouth slightly open. As the seconds ticked by, the sides of the multi-colored square became more and more homogenous, and he thought he could hear her breath speed up, just a tad. A respectable minute or so later, he’d finished it, and set it down on the desk in front of her before meeting her eyes.

“Just got a sudden urge to play?” she asked, but her eyes kept darting from his face to his hands, which were now folded on the desk between them, and back again.

“You know I’ve always liked to keep my hands busy,” he replied in what he hoped was his most suave and enticing tone, tapping his index finger against his knuckle.

“That you have,” she murmured. Blinking, she cleared her throat and returned her attention to her computer. “I just need to…” she trailed off.

 _Wow._  He was really going to have to break out the big guns if he wanted to distract her. Well, there was nothing else for it, then.

He reached for the cube, but fumbled it, and it went skittering off the edge of the desk onto the tile floor several feet away. He looked at it with mock-exasperation, then turned to Jemma.

“You know me. Clumsy old Fitz, always dropping things.” He strode over to where the cube sat on the floor, hoping Jemma was watching but unwilling to look back to check. Once he’d reached it, he bent over to pick it up as seductively as he knew how, suddenly glad he’d worn the trousers that hugged his arse just a smidge tighter than his other pairs.

Cube in hand, he slowly straightened back up, and this time couldn’t help himself. When he glanced over his shoulder at Jemma, her gaze was firmly planted on his rear, a determined look on her face. As he stood to his full height, he smirked, crossing over and planting the Rubik’s cube in her palm.

“Okay,” she said, quickly shutting down her computer and grasping his hand with her free one. “Let’s go.”

“Knew you’d break,” he said smugly as she dragged him down the hallway toward their shared bunk. “Didn’t stand a chance. Take that, Director. You’re no match for the seductive charms of Leo Fitz.”

They arrived at their door and Jemma tapped in their keycode before turning around to face him. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, Fitz. I finished the Director’s report while you messed about with that silly toy.” She slid her hands up over his chest and around his neck, walking backward and pulling him into their room. “But thank you anyway for the free show,” she whispered against his lips.

As he kissed her, the Rubik’s cube dropping to to the floor with a muffled clunk, Fitz decided he didn’t care that she’d gotten the best of him. They’d both won.


	57. Fitzsimmons + grinding up against each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by upsidedownhappyland on Tumblr. 
> 
> Fitzsimmons + “grinding up against each other”  
> Non-SHIELD neighbors AU.

“Okay, everybody in!” **  
**

Jemma eyed Trip’s car with a frown. “There are six of us, and only five seats.”

“Oh, Fitz,” Daisy said. “You don’t mind if Jemma sits on your lap, do you?”

The shocked look on his face matched the one on Jemma’s own. “Um–” he began.

“Surely that’s not necessary–” Jemma started.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he finished, not quite meeting her eyes. She shot a glare at Daisy– this must have been her plan all along, Jemma surmised. She and Fitz had been in some kind of flirtation holding pattern since he’d moved in next door _months_ ago, and Jemma knew that Daisy had had enough of it. _If you don’t make a move, I’m going to make one **for** you_ , she’d said as they’d gotten ready to meet the rest of their friends at the bar that night. Jemma hadn’t taken the threat seriously, but perhaps she should have.

The others filed into the car, and she and Fitz hung back awkwardly.

“We could call an Uber, or…” he trailed off.

“No, this is fine. It’s just for the few miles home, anyway.”

He grimaced but nodded, ducking into the remaining seat in the back of the car. After a moment of hesitation, Jemma curled herself into his lap, shutting the door behind her with some difficulty.

“All good?” asked Trip from the driver’s seat. Everyone agreed, and he started the car and pulled out of the bar’s parking lot.

Beside them, Hunter and Bobbi were arguing about some minor grievance, and in the front seat, Trip and Daisy were discussing whether or not to stop for late night diner food, but Jemma couldn’t pay attention to any of it. Instead, she was focused on trying to sit as primly and appropriately atop Fitz’s lap as possible. His bony knees dug into her thighs, and she had to bend her neck at an uncomfortable angle to avoid hitting her head on the roof of the car, but it was only a few miles. She could make do.

For his part, Fitz exuded tension, from the way he gripped the door handle to the supreme stillness of his body beneath her. He clearly had no desire to be in this situation with her. She thought he’d seemed interested at the bar, even flirtatious once they’d gotten a few drinks in him, and Jemma had hoped that tonight might be the night that something finally happened between them.

Apparently, the cosmos were against her.

The car ahead of them stopped short, and Trip slammed on the brakes. They all jerked forward, but once the car started moving again, the inertia pushed Jemma back so that she sat flush against Fitz’s chest, much closer than she’d been before. She couldn’t help but gasp at the contact.

She tried to scoot forward on his lap again, but without anything to grasp onto for leverage, all she could really do was wiggle ineffectively in place. Her cheeks grew hot– _he must be so uncomfortable_ – and as she struggled to move in her seat, she heard him suck in a ragged breath through his teeth.

Jemma turned her head to the side to look at him, able to take in his pink cheeks and darkened eyes even within the dim light of the backseat. Her brow furrowed, she made one last attempt to move, and when she did, she felt–

 _Oh._ Her face grew hotter as she realized that perhaps he was enjoying the car ride a bit more than she’d anticipated.

She whipped her head back around to stare straight forward, boring holes into the back of Trip’s seat. This was certainly an interesting new development.

The car rolled to a stop at a traffic light, and she sat completely still, unsure what to do. When the light turned green, though, the movement pushed her back against Fitz again and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, just a little. Just to see what he’d do.

Fitz sputtered out a cough, reaching up one clenched fist to cover his mouth as he tried to get his wits about him.

“Are you alright?” she asked innocently, turning her head so she could see him once more. There had been several times since she’d met him when she thought he looked like he might want to kiss her, or to take her hand, but she had never been quite sure.

This time, the naked look of want on his face left nothing for her to be uncertain about.

“‘m fine,” he said, his voice low. With a smile that she hoped was more seductive than silly, she nodded and turned to face forward, shifting purposefully in her seat as she did. This time, she thought she heard a soft groan.

She did it again, then again, rolling her hips tight against his, adrenaline buzzing through her at the thought of what she might be doing to him. At the next stoplight, his hands finally reached out and gripped her hips– though whether he was trying to still her movements or hold her even tighter, she couldn’t be sure.

When he let out a slow exhale, the warmth of his breath tickling the back of her neck, and pulled her closer, she had her answer. Jemma’s whole body felt like it was on fire, and from the heat emanating from every place that Fitz touched her, she thought the feeling might be mutual.

“Okay, new plan– screw going home; let’s get chili cheese fries!” called out Daisy from the passenger seat.

“No!” Fitz and Jemma cried out in unison. She flushed, and he cleared his throat.

“I’m actually completely knackered,” said Fitz, yawning hugely for effect.

“As am I,” Jemma chimed in quickly. “If we– I mean, if _I_ don’t get to a bed soon, we’re going to have a problem.”

“So you should probably just drop us off at the apartment,” finished Fitz. She nodded, venturing a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He swallowed and licked his lips nervously, but his mouth quirked up into a tiny smile, and she smiled back as reassuringly as she could. This was going to happen tonight. Now, _finally_ , she felt sure of it.

“Whoa, Fitz, man, never known you to turn down late night junk food,” said Trip. “You sure? We can just drop Jemma off and then hit the diner.”

“No, nah, you know, I’m thinking of cutting out junk food entirely. Terrible for you. Can’t even stand to be around it, if I’m bein’ honest,” he said, with a stilted shrug. His fingers still dug into her hips, and she gave another subtle shift backwards, enjoying the way his breath hitched. “Ah– no. Yeah. Bed– I just need to go to bed, too.”

“If you’re suuure,” Daisy sing-songed, swinging her gaze around to meet Jemma’s eyes with a mischievous look. She winked, and for the tenth time in three miles, Jemma’s cheeks blazed. “Okay. We’ll drop off these nerds, and then it’s cheese fries for everyone!”

Jemma let out a relieved sigh, letting herself fall back and mold against Fitz’s chest. His thumb stroked tender, gentle circles against her hip and she knew that this wasn’t just going to be a one-time thing.

And she was right. It was one time on the sofa in the living room, one time against the wall on the way to the bedroom, one time on the rug at the foot of the bed, and many, many times yet to come after that.


	58. Fitzsimmons + librarian/avid reader au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for widowshulk on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + “librarian/avid reader au”

“How’d you like it?” Fitz hopped off the portable stool he’d been using to reshelve, brushing imaginary lint off the front of his trousers as she approached. She furrowed her brow and tapped the edge of the hardcover thoughtfully against her chin. **  
**

“It was certainly eye-opening. I’ll have to marinate on it a bit longer.” She shrugged, then handed the book over to him. As he took it, their fingers brushed, just slightly. Just like they did twice a week, each time Jemma stopped by the library. “What can you recommend for me today?” she asked as they began to walk toward the circulation desk.

Fitz added the book she’d returned to a pile to be reshelved, then gestured for her to follow him to the stacks.

“You know,” he said, scratching at his stubble and peeking at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You don’t have to check out just one book at a time. That’s got to be inconvenient for somebody who reads as fast as you do. There’s no limit to how many books you can take out at once.”

“That’s not true. The limit is ten. I’ve checked.”

He huffed, leading her down an aisle and making a sharp right when it ended at the far side of the library. “Well, yeah, if you’re going to get _specific_ about it–”

“One would expect the _Librarian of the Month_ to know such details,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. He stopped short and his mouth fell open, which only made her grin widen. “I happened to walk by the staff room as one of the volunteers was leaving. Caught a look at the poster hanging just inside the door.”

Fitz felt his cheeks growing hot as he thought of what she’d seen– a sheet of bright orange posterboard covered in glitter and gold star stickers, with “Librarian of the Month” emblazoned on the top in colorful puffy paint. And right in the middle, possibly the worst photo of him ( _of anyone?_ ) ever taken.

“I was quite proud to see that my favorite librarian was finally getting his due.” She nudged him with her elbow, and he fell back into step as they headed for the back of the building, where the book he wanted to recommend lived. “You were saying? About how I should check out more books and thus visit less often?”

“I didn’t mean–” He stopped short and spun around. “Hang on– favorite…?”

Jemma rolled her eyes and stamped her foot impatiently, and it was only then that he realized just how close they were standing, tucked away in the very back corner of the stacks. He cleared his throat, but didn’t retreat.

“And precisely why did you think I came in so regularly? This library branch isn’t even on my way home.”

His mouth worked, but no sound came out. And was she moving in even closer? “To see– to see _me_?” he asked, finally, and she giggled.

“Yes, Fitz. I’m quite aware that I could be checking out up to ten books at once. But at my current reading rate, that would mean I’d only get to see you every five weeks or so.” Her smile was soft, her eyes hopeful. “I simply prefer it this way. And I thought,” she began, looking down briefly before meeting his gaze again. “You might prefer it, too.”

Fitz swallowed.

“So.” She sucked in a breath, and when she rocked forward a bit on the balls of her feet, he caught the scent of her perfume mixed with musty old books, and it made him feel both adrift and at home. “Do you? Prefer it?”

He was nodding before he could make up his mind about what to say. “To be honest, I’d be happy if you read so fast you were in here every single day,” he said after a moment, and the smile that blossomed on her face warmed him even as they stood in the draftiest part of the building.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll stop by, even if I haven’t finished today’s book.”

“That, or…”

She raised her eyebrows, and he reached behind her to pull a pair of books off the shelf at random. “My shift ends in half an hour.” He held out the books, and she took them without looking at their titles. “Maybe you could check out two today, and we could go someplace and… read them together?”

She hugged the books to her chest and smiled. “I’d like that.”

That evening, they shared a worn loveseat at a tea shop around the corner as they read side by side.

A week later, she checked out four books, and they spent the whole of a Saturday lounging around, reading passages to each other and laughing the afternoon away.

Two weeks after that, she checked out ten, and they scarcely left his bedroom for an entire weekend.

All ten were returned with spines uncracked, to be checked out again at a later date.


	59. Fitzsimmons + sitting on the same park bench au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for recoveringrabbit on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + “sitting on the same park bench au”

Jemma carefully unwrapped her sandwich, mindful of any crumbs, and set it on the bench beside her. It was a lovely day– a bit overcast, but quiet and still.

She was just taking a delicate sip of too-hot tea from her floral-patterned Thermos when a Weimaraner the size of a small horse came barreling toward her across the lawn. He (or was it a she?) stopped short just in front of Jemma, tongue lolling to the side and bounding with restless energy.

“Well, hello,” Jemma said, with a bemused glance toward the dog’s leash, dragging limply on the ground. “Who do you belong to?”

“Mushroom!” came a frantic voice from the other side of the park. “Mushroom, where are you?” Jemma squinted at the man, whose hands were tugging at his sandy curls. He looked panicked and disheveled. “Mushroom!”

“Um, excuse me!” Jemma set her Thermos down on the pavement and stood up, waving both hands in an attempt to get the man’s attention. “Excuse me, sir! Is this your ‘Mushroom’?” She wrinkled her nose at the phrase– bit of an odd name for a dog, wasn’t it?

He looked from her, to the dog in question, who was now snacking happily on Jemma’s sandwich (completely oblivious to the crumbs it was leaving on the bench seat, of course), and sagged forward with his hands on his knees. Jemma sat back down as he began to jog toward her bench. With a mournful look at what was left of her sandwich, she patted the dog on its soft, grey head. It wasn’t Mushroom’s fault. If the approaching man was the type to let his dog get loose in the park like that, then surely he was the type to forget to feed it, too.

“Mushroom, there you are,” said the man between panting breaths. He leaned down and picked up the dog’s leash before dropping unceremoniously into a seat on the other side of Jemma’s bench. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered. “She got loose an hour ago. I’ve been chasing her all over this bleedin’ park all morning. Bloody _hellbeast_ , she is.”

Jemma chuckled, her gaze drifting down to the dog, who now sat politely on the sidewalk. “I think she was just in search of lunch.”

He opened his eyes questioningly, and when he noticed the empty wrapper of what used to be her sandwich, he swore under his breath. “I am so sorry. She’s not even mine– I’m dogsitting for my friend Hunter, and he warned me she was a lot to handle, and I didn’t listen, because no good has _ever_ come from listening to Hunter, and then turns out he was right, and now you’ve got no lunch.” He sighed, and Jemma couldn’t help but laugh again. It was oddly charming how seriously he was taking the dog’s bad behavior.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She picked up her Thermos and held it up. “I’ve got tea, at least!”

He grimaced and rubbed at the base of his neck with one hand, the other tightly gripping the leash. “That reminds me, I’m parched from all that runnin’ around.” He looked around the park. “There’s got to be a water fountain or a hot dog cart around.”

Jemma had lunch in the park three times a week, and knew there was nothing of the sort. “It’s a small park.” She hesitated for a moment, then held out the Thermos. “Here, have some tea.”

He eyed it thirstily, but shook his head. “No, no– we can’t eat your lunch _and_ drink your tea. Mushroom may not have any manners but I’ve got a few.”

“And I don’t want you to faint of thirst on my favorite bench. I’d never be able to sit here again without feeling guilty.” She nodded at the tea again, and this time, he took it with a grateful smile. He sipped, and they sat. Mushroom flopped over onto her side, and Jemma began to rub her belly with the toe of one flat.

“She likes you,” the man said after a moment. “She doesn’t like me much.”

“Probably because you don’t feed her homemade pesto aioli sandwiches,” Jemma mused.

His eyes widened. “Pesto aioli is my favorite. And she ate the whole thing? This just keeps getting worse!”

Jemma laughed. “It’s not so bad. I’ve plenty more at home. I can pop by my apartment before heading back to work, make a new sandwich.”

The man paused for a moment, then nodded slightly, as if to himself. “Actually– I was hoping Mushroom and I could take you to lunch? To make up for…” He gestured vaguely all around them. “All of this. Think you have the time?”

She checked her watch. She only had 30 minutes until she was meant to be back at the lab, but her bosses were out of town, and her current project was on hold, anyway. “For Mushroom, I could make time.” At the sound of her name, the dog sat up and rested her head on Jemma’s lap.

“Mushroom!”

“She’s fine,” Jemma said, stroking the dog’s head.

“She’s a hellbeast.”

“A sweet hellbeast.”

“There’s a deli around the corner. They don’t stock homemade pesto aioli as far as I know, but they do a good pastrami and I hear their tomato bisque is excellent. And they have a patio, so we can bring Mushroom.”

Jemma stood, shouldering her bag and tucking the now-empty Thermos away. “Shall we?”

The man rose with a smile. She decided she quite liked his smile, now that he was much more collected than he’d been before. “Let’s go.”

As they began to walk, she reached over and grasped Mushroom’s leash, gently prying it from his grip. “I think I should hang onto this for now.” She smirked at him. “Not sure you can be trusted with it.”

“Hey!”

She found she quite liked teasing him, too. And over the course of lunch, she found she quite liked talking to him over sandwiches and bowls of soup.

And after lunch, she decided she’d quite like to give him her phone number.

To see Mushroom again, of course.


	60. Fitzsimmons + things you said while we were driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for agent-85 on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + things you said while we were driving.
> 
> Non-SHIELD AU.

“Turn left up ahead, and the driveway will be on the right.” **  
**

Fitz tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “My right or your right?”

Jemma chuckled from the passenger seat, and if he dared glance away from the road, he knew he’d see her rolling her eyes. “We’re facing the same direction, Fitz, so I’d say it’s both of our rights.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, then let it out slowly. “I knew that. Of course. I’m just a little bit–”

“Discombobulated? Panicked? Completely out of your head with worry about–”

“–meeting your parents for the first time. Yes. To all of those.” The only driveway in sight was a long, winding one with an intimidating brick mansion looming at the top of it. With a grimace, Fitz pulled the car into it and killed the engine.

“Fitz.” Jemma slid her hand over his on the steering wheel, gently prying his fingers loose to twine with her own. He still didn’t look at her, his eyes pinned on the house up ahead. “Fitz,” she repeated. He swallowed thickly. “Fitz!”

“Yeah, that’s– hi,” he said lamely, finally tearing his eyes away from the house to look at his girlfriend of six weeks. Her smile was soft, and he somehow managed to match it with one of his own. He felt at least 5% less anxious.

“My parents are going to adore you.”

He exhaled through his nose again. “How do you know that?”

Jemma squeezed his hand, then let go, reaching up instead to cup the back of his neck and scratch her fingertips through his curls. “Because I’m their progeny. And while there  _is_  quite a bit of debate about nature versus nurture– how much of a role do genetics play in things like taste, preferences, et cetera?” Her eyes lit up as she spoke, and he knew that if he let her, she’d go on and on and they’d be late for dinner. As much as he loved it when she got worked up about science, he didn’t relish the idea of showing up to meet her family 45 minutes behind schedule. “In fact, I was just reading a  _fascinating_ study in which researchers at Cambridge–”

“Jemma?”

She blinked at him, regaining her focus. “Right. As I was saying– they’re my parents, and they’ll adore you just as I adore you.”

Fitz let out a breathy laugh in spite of himself, looking down at his hands in his lap. “You do?”

“Quite right I do,” she said, her thumb grazing his earlobe, making him suppress a shiver. “I can’t seem to help myself. And that’s how I know my parents are going to feel the same way.”

“Because of genetics?” He met her eyes again, and she smiled in a way that made hers crinkle at the corners, a smile he’d come to love already.

“Because of genetics. And not least of all, because they’d be utter fools not to.”

He felt another 5% of his worry slipping away, and she settled back into her seat, letting her hands drop to her lap.

“We’d better get inside,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

“Fitz?” He turned to look at her, noting her raised eyebrows and the amusement on her face. She nodded toward the house. “Maybe we could pull up the driveway just a  _bit_ more.”

He peered out the windshield to see that her parents’ house was still rather far away– he’d parked the car just inside the mouth of the drive. Flushing, he turned the key in the ignition and began to creep forward.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Hope they’re not watching from the front window. They’ll’ve thought they’ve got some kind of strange prowler on their hands.”

Jemma’s laugh rang out, the sound a balm to his worried heart. “Well, you’re  _my_  strange prowler, a strange prowler they’d be fools not to love. Remember?” She grinned at him. “Genetics.”

By the way Jemma’s parents kept exchanging knowing looks across the table as the dinner progressed, Fitz later had to admit, she may have been right.


	61. Fitzsimmons + things you said under the stars and in the grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for accio-the-force on Tumblr, who requested Fitzsimmons + things you said under the stars and in the grass.

“There’re  _so_  many stars, did you know?”

At the sound of her voice, Fitz stopped short and turned around. He sighed when he saw that Simmons had plopped down onto the grassy hill, just a short walk from their apartment. He hadn’t expected her to get so drunk that night at their neighborhood bar– in fact, he would have guessed _he’d_ be the one who’d need to be carried home. After all, it wasn’t every day that one signed one’s life away, volunteering to live on an airplane for the foreseeable future (even though one hadn’t even passed one’s field assessment, for God’s sake).

“Fitz?”

He put both hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. “Simmons, let’s just get home, alright? It’s nearly two in the morning.”

Instead of answering, she flopped back onto the grass, all sprawling arms and legs, her hair fanning out behind her and shining in the moonlight. Fitz sighed. His shoulders drooping with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be getting to bed anytime soon, he shuffled onto the grass and let himself fall to the ground beside her. They were both silent for a long moment.

“My father and I used to look up at the stars, did I ever tell you?” she asked. He nodded, then upon realizing she wasn’t looking at him, he spoke.

“You did. We all used his telescope when we visited your parents last summer, remember?”

“So many stars. It all starts to seem a bit infinite.”

“So will this night, if we don’t get to bed soon.”

She rolled over onto her side, folding her arm under her head and looking up at Fitz with a dreamy expression. “We’re going to be up there soon.”

He raised an eyebrow. “In the stars?”

“In the sky.”

He waited a beat before nodding. His chest felt tight. He had a feeling it would for a long, long while.

Her face erupted into a goofy grin, though, and he felt the tightness dissipate, just a bit. “I sometimes dreamed of being among the stars.”

Fitz watched her face for a moment, then leaned back on his elbows, taking in the sky for himself for the first time that night. “Who hasn’t?”

Simmons yawned, then rolled onto her back. “Wouldn’t want to go up there with anyone but you, you know,” she mumbled, almost an afterthought, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, then laid back on the grass beside her. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

It may have been the middle of the night, but surely they could afford this moment out of time, underneath the vast expanse of sky they’d soon call home.

Surely the cosmos could provide them that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


End file.
